


Seer

by skargasm



Series: Seer [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Dead Gerard Argent, Derek Hale & Lydia Martin Friendship, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Fanart, Frottage, Gender Confusion, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Graphic Description, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jordan Parrish - Freeform, M/M, Matricide, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rimming, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Slurs, Versatile Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, lydia martin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 55
Words: 80,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skargasm/pseuds/skargasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale used to be a psychic until a traumatic event took his powers away from him. Until now.</p><p>Stiles Stilinski is a detective faced with a case that is getting stranger by the day. He has what looks to be a nasty serial killer on his hands and a so-called psychic who can tell him details that no one but the killer should know. He also has a desire for this strange witness that he has never experienced before in his life and that part of him wants to take as far as it can go.</p><p>If only he could get past the idea that Derek can read <i>his</i> mind and Derek can get past the idea that Stiles might well be using <i>him</i> as bait to catch a killer.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the 1995 novel "[Dream Man](http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dream-Man-ebook/dp/B00AHEKJMS/ref=sr_1_cc_1?s=aps&ie=UTF8&qid=1372718129&sr=1-1-catcorr&keywords=dream+man+linda+howard)" by Linda Howard, I initially tried writing this as semi-original fiction, so if you ever checked out my other pseud, you may well recognise this. 
> 
> Am hopeful the muse and my health will allow me to update this regularly.

[ ](http://imgur.com/fdmJtak)

Scrape. Scrape. Swish.

Scrape. Scrape.

The feel of the razor travelling over his flesh was soothing and arousing at the same time. It gave him a subtle sense of satisfaction, knowing he was preparing for something special. It spoke of his commitment and dedication; it was a silent testimony to his intelligence. The calm ritual underscored the length of time he had been doing this. He wouldn't let himself be caught by something as simple as a stray hair.

The shave didn't take long; his scalp held only stubble. It was no longer strange to see his bald reflection in the mirror or the faint lines where his eyebrows used to be. Careful application of eyebrow makeup took care of those during his 'normal' every day activities. 

A final swish of the water and a rub of his hand over his scalp testified to the efficiency of his actions. Dropping the towel from around his waist, he picked up the store-brand shaving gel and applied it liberally to the short stubble at his groin. He ignored the eagerness for a less clinical touch emanating from his body as he began to run the blade through the fluffy white cloud of foam. It would soon be time to go hunting—then he would be able to satisfy all of his urges.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.


	2. A State of Contentment

Derek Hale laughed quietly as he stepped to the side, deftly avoiding John Bailey's less-than-subtle flirting. Derek enjoyed the monthly video evenings they held in the book-store, although sometimes the buffet afterwards could be a strain. But still, tonight had been fun. The movie had been some light-hearted comedy that he would no doubt forget, but it made a nice change from their usual films, which were largely book adaptations. Everyone had seemed to have a good time, and people had been neat and tidy, throwing paper plates and cups into the recycling bins. Cleaning away the remnants of the buffet took Derek less than five minutes.

It was just after eleven when he steered the last of the customers out into the night, turning the sign to closed before locking the door. He headed to the small car park at the back of the store and buckled himself into his reliable but slightly battered Honda CR-V. As he pulled out onto the street, he realised that he was content—and that, for at least the last six months, he had been feeling almost normal.

There had been a time when he thought he'd never feel normal. After the incident, he had struggled for the longest time, although the scars were more metaphysical and mental than physical. It made him smile to think that Dr Deaton had been correct: the human psyche was a strange thing, and things never manifested the way you expected them to. He was more than happy that his particular ability hadn't returned.

He had wondered, though, if he would ever feel safe again. Three years after it happened, he had finally pushed himself into going out; he refused to remain a shut-in because of what that man had done. When he realised he could afford to buy the book-store near where his family lived, he threw himself into the project until the store was almost a second home. He attributed its success to residual clientèle from the previous owner and the store's reputation for finding hard-to-source books. Movie night was well attended, and the extra revenue justified the late closing time.

He had gone a little movie-wild once he discovered the joy of throwing himself into the visual experience, without being bombarded by how everyone else felt about what they were watching.

He discovered a love of The Fast and the Furious franchise and was looking forward to seeing number six. No doubt it was the pretty cars, although the pretty men weren't bad either. Surprisingly, he could also cope with violent or scary movies, although he preferred ones with aliens—the more far-fetched, the easier to handle. He personally knew some of the worst that humans could do; he didn't need to see it played out on screen in HD. Sex scenes were his real nemesis, which was a bitch because sex seemed to be in every movie nowadays. But the intimacy portrayed made him extremely uncomfortable, and he tended to hide his face or at least close his eyes until it was over. Again, Dr Deaton told him to give it time, that his natural instincts and desires would return eventually. Privately he felt he could well do without them; sex was a messy and stressful experience, as far as he could recall, and not worth the effort.

Heading toward home, he smiled as he sang along with his iPod—30 Seconds to Mars were singing “A Beautiful Lie” and he loved the song. He could carry a tune, but he didn't have the voice or lung capacity of their lead singer, another beautiful man. Derek wondered if the singer was gay, an idle thought licking through his head as he drove automatically, the late night making the journey smooth and relatively traffic free. He was seriously thinking about taking a vacation – his eye had been caught by a travelogue about the Great Barrier Reef earlier that day and the beauty of it was undeniable. Perhaps-

>   
>  _the light catches the blade as it slashes down, the beauty of a red line appearing on pale flesh._  
> 

“NO!” Derek jerked, a physical rejection of the image that had taken over his mind. He didn't want this. He had never wanted this, and how cruel that it was coming back now, when he had finally found some semblance of peace.

> _sadistic dark pleasure, contempt for his victim and her pathetic cries for mercy. The blade rises and falls again, the solid thunk as it strikes bone causing an almost sexual thrill._  
> 

“NO!” Derek's scream was loud in the confines of the car. He wrenched the steering wheel sideways, knowing from bitter experience that he had only moments before he lost control of the vehicle as he was taken over completely. A black tide came over his eyes as his mind was flooded with images and feelings. He barely had time to turn off the engine and hope he was parked sufficiently out of the way.

* * *

 

A hard rap on the window brought Derek back to himself, the harsh sound penetrating the darkness.

“You okay?” The voice was young and female. Derek scrubbed his face with his hands and then stretched his limbs, trying to bring feeling back. He rolled down his window.

“What?”

“You been parked here for the better part of two hours. Here.” Still sluggish and bemused, he looked at the young girl, her blonde and pink striped hair shining with the light from the nearby food-van.

“I can't—”

“Don't worry about paying for it. You just looked like you needed the buzz.”

With a shaking hand, he reached through the window and gratefully accepted the cup, the midnight-dark brew burning his lips as he took an incautious sip. Blinking rapidly, he registered his surroundings. He was parked lopsidedly a short distance away from the food van and couldn't recall even seeing it when he pulled in.

“Thank you.”

“What happened? Was it an epileptic fit? I have a cousin who suffers really badly. She's not allowed to drive anymore, although to be honest I'm not sure how much of that is down to the epilepsy. My aunt says—”

He felt a little rude tuning out the inane chatter while he gratefully consumed the hot sugared beverage, but there was no way his sluggish mind could keep up with what the girl was saying.

“—so I said she should probably not. Are you finished with that?” He nodded and passed the empty cup through the window, letting his head fall back onto the headrest. “I've got to get back to the truck. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks ever so much. My name is Derek, by the way.”

“Hey Derek, I'm Toni. Any time you want coffee and a chat, just pop by.” She looked at him critically in the dawn's soft light. “Are you okay getting home? You don't look as bad as you did, but you're awfully pale.”

“I'm fine, thank you, Toni. I really appreciate it.” It was a struggle to coordinate his movements but he managed to turn the key in the ignition, starting the car. It looked like he wasn't far from home, something he appreciated as he still felt shaky. He refused to think about the images that had appeared in his head, and he instead concentrated fiercely on other things during the drive home. He knew Toni's strong coffee was the reason he made it home in one piece, and he resolved to visit her soon and leave a large tip. Clinging to the banal normality, he made sure the front door was locked behind him before staggering down the hallway. More than anything he wanted to throw himself between the welcoming sheets, but experience told him he needed to have a drink of water and visit the bathroom first. Once he crashed, there was no telling how quickly he would reawaken.

It was like walking through mud, but he made his way to the bathroom, filled a mug with water, and drained it as he sat on the toilet and emptied his bladder. He splashed water on his face to wash away the sweat and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eyes were shadowed and red-rimmed, his skin paler than normal, his mouth pinched in pain.

And such a short time ago, he remembered with a pang, he had actually felt content.


	3. A Bloody Crime Scene

Scowling, Stiles Stilinski tried to figure out just how he and his partner had ended up answering this call. Friday morning and he had that Monday feeling which wasn't a good sign. He had a theory that Shaffer had batted her eyelashes at his partner and given a sob story about yet another family event she would miss if she took the call. He would have thought Scott would be immune to such machinations and manipulations by now, but obviously not. Sheaffer didn't even bother trying them with him – being 'out' in the department saved him from a lot of that shit, but obviously he needed to get Scott better trained.

“Don't look at me like that – Shaffer had something at her kid's school or something. I figured you probably wouldn't have gone tricking on a work night so no big.” Scott smiled at him as he got out of the car, quite obviously unimpressed with the scowl Stiles was throwing him.

“So what is it?” He followed Scott up the path, past the police personnel milling about as they unravelled swatches of police crime tape and began wrapping it around everything. It looked like the medical personnel had just arrived which kinda sucked as it meant that the scene was still being contaminated. It was almost inevitable at any scene – the person who found the victim, the first police on the scene; hell, anyone who arrived on the scene before the Medical Examiner was basically a contaminant.

He nodded a greeting to the female officer guarding the door, wondering briefly at her blush before brushing it from his mind as irrelevant. He took a less hurried glance at the collection of looky-loos that were gathered as closely as they could get, trying to see if there was anyone there who looked out of place or just that little bit _too_ avid. The TV programmes had it right when they talked about the perp sometimes sticking around to watch the police machine swing into action. No one in particular caught his eye but he saw with approval that one of the policemen was taking pictures so that they could be referred to later. He wondered if it constituted an infringement of their civil liberties then shrugged it off and followed McCall's fine ass into the house.

It was a strictly factual assessment of his partner's anatomy. Scott McCall was a fine specimen of a man, standing over six feet in height with broad shoulders, a trim waist and strong muscled legs. His face was almost pretty with soulful brown eyes, his dark hair gelled back so you got the full impact of the nicely sculptured cheekbones and finely formed mouth although he did have the crookedest jaw Stiles had ever seen. If you ignored hair colour, from behind they could be mistaken for each other as they shared a similar build. However, his hair was a fawn brown that stuck up all over his head no matter what he tried to do with it, hence keeping it cut ruthlessly short. His eyes were a weird light sherry brown, he had an uptilted nose but his mouth. His mouth, so he had been told, was his best feature – it had got him into enough fights when he was growing up. Jocks actually called him a faggot just because he had pouty lips! It was before he discovered that he was gay and many of the jocks who tortured him had done so partly as camouflage because they wanted him. He'd looked like such a stereotypical twink when he'd been growing up, only filling out, shooting upwards and bulking up as he hit fifteen, sixteen. The teasing, torture and unwelcome come ons had stopped but he'd never forgotten what it felt like to be bullied, taking part in several department initiatives to visit schools and raise awareness of LGBT issues. Maybe that explained him becoming a cop – a desire to protect and serve – as no one else in his family had gone into the peacekeeping business.

He knew the reminiscing was his way of distancing himself from the sight that greeted him in the house. Blood seemed to be splattered everywhere, hand-prints smeared across walls and the floor. Following the path it took led him to the victim or rather what was left of her. She had been hacked to pieces, her torso full of stab wounds, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“What we got?” Scott's voice was slightly shaky and he knew the slaughter had got to his partner too. He shifted sideways as the chief medical examiner came past wearing his normal garb of boiler suit, paper booties on his feet, gloves on his hands. Snapping gloves on himself, Stiles stepped out of the way. He watched as the other man worked swiftly and efficiently before finally speaking.

“Preliminary examination shows a female, approximately early twenties. Various stab wounds leading to blood loss although just from this I can tell you that the killing blow was after she had nearly bled out.”

“It looks like he chased her around most of the downstairs?”

“Judging by blood splatters, I'd say so. I imagine there are more wounds on her back but I don't want to move her just yet. She put up quite a fight, ultimately dragging herself in here where he finished her off.”

“So most of the wounds - “

“Before she died. I'll have to do a rape kit but if he did it looks like he wore a condom. We'd need to rely on stray hairs, that sort of thing. There is one thing.”

“What, more?” Scott sounded how he felt and Stiles resisted the urge to get Jonathan to speak faster. The diminutive man was slow and methodical, something that made him excellent at his job but damned frustrating to talk to sometimes.

“He cut off her fingers on her right hand.”

“He – wait, maybe she scratched him? An angry response or - “

“I can't tell for definite but lack of blood spurt makes me think post mortem.”

“Cool and methodical. To be in this abattoir and take the time to cut off her fingers to prevent us getting evidence - “

“Cold hearted bastard.” Meeting Scott's dark gaze, he knew his partner was feeling the same as he did – someone like this needed to be caught fast and put down hard.

“Did she have a partner? How was she found?” Stiles turned to the young officer who had been guarding the door. She was nervously checking her notes, taking several hurried glances at Scott every now and then. Really? Was there something ….”What's your name?”

“Allison Argent sir. I caught the initial call and came round. Her name is – sorry, was Anya Castle. She worked down-town as an insurance broker. Her husband actually called it in. His name is Philip. He works nights – normally gets home in time for them to share breakfast together. He got home as normal, walked in at approximately 7.30 a.m and saw the hallway, called it in as he ran through to where she is now. By the time I arrived, he was kneeling next to the body which explains the smears on the left hand side. He'd left the door open – that was how I got in – and was sobbing, holding her hand. Umm, the uncut one.”

“Possibly hiding evidence or destroying it”. Half talking to himself, Stiles gestured to Argent to continue.

“He's waiting for you in the office which is just off the living room. It's one of the few rooms down here with no blood in it that I could see but SOCO are going to give it the once over anyway. I put a plastic sheet on the chair before he sat down and I kept him from washing the blood from his hands – he's still in the clothes he arrived in.”

“Nice work Argent. We'll go talk to him now – we can always continue down at the station if need be. Jonathan, you'll let us have your report asap?” Jonathan nodded absently before turning back to his study of the body and Stiles gestured to his partner to precede him through the door. He couldn't help but notice how close Scott passed to Argent and how she bit her lip as he did so. There was a story there and he was going to rag on Scott until he got it first chance he got. He'd never seen McCall let anything get in the way of the job, especially something as serious as getting involved with a subordinate officer. Shifting focus, he followed Scott into the office.

Philip Castle was a slight looking man, with floppy dark hair, weak blue eyes and quivering lips as he sat in the office chair staring at his hands. First impressions said the guy didn't have the anger necessary to cause the slaughter out there but first impressions had been wrong before.

“Mr Castle, we're sorry for your loss.” Watery blue eyes met his, the pain in them quite devastating if it was real. “This is Detective McCall, I'm Detective Stilinski.”

“I – she said....she...... we always had breakfast together. It was our thing. She – she said if I insisted on working nights we should have at least one meal together.”

“Was that a bone of contention, you working nights?”

“What? Yes, sort of. But I lost my job at the University library and factory work was all I could get and night-shift pays best so - “

“Did you have money worries? Did you have to work nights to support anything in particular? Did your wife have expensive tastes perhaps?”

“Anya – Anya liked nice things but we were okay for money. She just hated being alone at night – said it was scary sometimes. And she was right. I mean, if I'd been here instead of working then maybe – I could have.....if I'd been here.....” Castle collapsed into tears, gut wrenching sobs that shook his slender shoulders.

“Mr Castle, we'll need details about where you were last night.”

“What – I was at work.”

“Did you have to punch in? A time clock – any witnesses see you?”

“I don't understand …. I, yes, I punched in and I worked with my normal team. The four of us were together for the whole shift. I – Oh my God, you think I - “More tears and Stiles pretty much decided either Castle was an extremely good actor or there was no way the man was responsible. Obviously his alibi would need to be checked out but they could pretty much dismiss him. A quick glance showed that McCall agreed.

“Thank you Mr Castle. Argent will get your statement and we'll be in touch. Once again, we're sorry for your loss sir.” The words felt hollow in his mouth and he wished there was more he could say, something that could provide comfort to the distraught man. He felt McCall's presence behind him as he walked back to the living room, taking in the scene one more time. He had a really bad feeling that this was going to get a whole lot messier.


	4. Derek Makes an Admission

The waiting was the worst.

He hoped desperately that what he had felt, had  _seen_ , was an overly involving nightmare but he knew it wasn't. Somewhere out there she lay dead, still waiting to be found. It made him feel nauseous just thinking about it but he couldn't put it out of his mind. He'd ended up leaving the book-store closed, unable to concentrate enough to consider dealing with people – pitiful indeed.

After two days what he had been waiting for turned up online. It was a basic report about the discovery of the body of Anya Castle in the early hours of Friday morning in an affluent area of town. There were pleas for anyone who had seen or spoken to the victim at any point during the twenty four hours previous to her demise to come forward and contact the relevant police department and that was it.

Short. Precise. Devastating.

After reading the report through several times on his tablet, he took a few moments to settle himself, taking deep breaths as he finally allowed the fact to solidify that it was well and truly back. Whether it had been a one-off or whether his gift had returned in it's entirety remained to be seen, but in this instance it was obvious there. He could never again relax into the idea of being normal. Six years of being a blank, six years to get over the horrors of that time, all of that hard work rebuilding himself gone in a matter of hours. His life was about to get really complicated and he might well end up having to leave and start all over again.

Checking the online report yet again, Derek recognised that the co-ordinating police department was less than five minutes away from the book-store – karma was indeed a major bitch and gunning for him. Somehow, he couldn't see a trip to the Great Barrier Reef anywhere in his future - hell, he'd be lucky to be allowed out of the police precinct.

A quick shower and shave and he dressed as though preparing for battle. He knew it didn't matter how he looked – it never made any difference to how they perceived him. Initially they would be thinking of him as some attention seeking crazy. That would probably be the case up until they heard what he had to say at which point he would be upgraded to suspect number one. He was ready for that too – he had a folder full of details of the cases he had assisted on in the past. He hoped the contact numbers he had were up to date but he didn't intend to do all of their work for them.

Looking in the mirror he tried to see himself the way that they would. Black-brown hair fell into his face, and he regretted not getting his hair cut the previous weekend. His eyes were still a little bloodshot from lack of sleep, the normally bright hazel-green looking dull and lifeless with stress. His nose was neat, his mouth a little too pouty – sometimes he thought it made him look girly. He didn’t look like a stereotypical idea of a serial killer, not that there was one.

His Puma trainers were red suede, a splash of colour in an otherwise bland ensemble and grabbing the file he had prepared, he accepted that it was time to go. Nothing was being achieved by standing and staring at himself in the mirror. Get it over with and see if he could be of any assistance – his mother insisted that being blessed with the sight meant he should use it to help people. Very Spiderman. He should really ask her how the idea of second sight meshed with her Pentecostal beliefs but he didn't want a slap around the back of his head for his troubles. Better to do as his siblings did and just accept Marmee's word as law – life was so much simpler that way…

 

* * *

“Who's that in with the Captain?” Stiles watched through the office windows as much as he could see with the blinds pulled down. It wasn't like Captain Parrish to close them unless he had the big brass in or someone was in trouble. Parrish was still a policeman first and bureaucrat second, something his team appreciated.

Scott was busy typing up a report on the computer, his two finger typing technique always something that made Stiles smile. He was actually quite a competent typist (too much time on internet forums in his youth) but he refused to do all of the reports, convincing McCall that his two finger effort was still miles faster than Stiles himself could do.

“Stilinski, McCall, in here.” The loud sigh of relief from Scott made Stiles laugh, an expression he stifled as he caught a look at Parrish's face. Whatever was going on, Parrish was looking mighty ticked off which didn't bode well for them being called in. He couldn't think offhand of anything he had done but that didn't mean he wasn't guilty of _something_. Feeling out of sorts and unaccountably guilty, Stiles headed across the room towards Parrish's office. Whatever he'd done, he'd lay money on McCall having done worse. Slipping into Parrish's office, Stiles found himself face to face with a stunning and stunned pair of pale green eyes, grinding to a halt as he found himself unable to move further.

“Shift Stiles!” Stuttering an apology, Stiles dragged his gaze away from the wide-eyed stare, moving so that he was standing to the right and slightly behind Parrish's visitor. He was shaken by his reaction, taking a few moments to get his equilibrium back. What the hell was going on and who was the pretty boy sitting opposite the Captain? He noticed the guy was shifting nervously, eyes flicking to Stiles a number of times before steadfastly staring at his hands. With two small steps, Stiles was stood staring at the man's profile, leaning back against the wall so that he wasn't hovering in quite so menacing a fashion. He didn't like his reaction to this guy and he had a pretty good idea that he seriously wasn’t going to like what the guy was going to say but judging by the Captain's expression he didn't have a choice about hearing it. The Captain cleared his throat and Stiles forced himself to pay attention and stop trying to figure out if the sea green/hazel eyes were contact lenses or not.

“Derek Hale, these are Detectives Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall. They're the lead investigators on the Castle case. You two, I want you to listen to what Mr Hale has to say and I don't want you to interrupt until he's done. We clear?” Stiles saw Scott nod and followed suit, shifting his legs forward as he folded his arms across his chest.

Derek was sat stiffly in his chair, shoulders squared, head lowered slightly as he continued to look at his hands. To all intents and purposes, he seemed to be trying to disappear in front of them which seemed strange if he had volunteered to be there. Shaggy looking dark hair fell forward into those stunning eyes and he pursed his lips before beginning to speak.

“I'm psychic.”


	5. Re-enactment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Contains graphic scenes of bloody violence.

He definitely hadn't heard that right, his gaze automatically going to McCall's so his partner could confirm or deny what had been said. McCall was doing his best not to snort and Stiles looked at the Captain, sure he would see a similar expression of disbelief or something that said that this was some sort of joke. He didn't and Derek continued speaking. “At a little after eleven on Thursday night, I closed up after an event at my bookstore. I was driving home when the vision took me over. I managed to pull over before I lost sight completely.”

“Mr Hale.....”

“He was waiting for her in her home. He's laughing inside–so much for your home being your castle, your utopia. He's here to turn it into something else—something special. She finally spots him and screams. He smiles and tells her not to scream or struggle. She's pathetic–shaking while she nods and pretends to believe him. She's not unattractive–he's glad he waited until after her bath. It's simple to make her lie down, pushing her face away from him while he does her. He doesn't want to be distracted by her tears, doesn't want to start the final phase too soon. She's so grateful that he's not brutal and considerate enough to use protection – sobbing quietly but keeping still. Stupid smile on her face when he finishes and ties off the condom as if that's going to change things, make him act differently.

He even helps her to her feet. Such a gentleman. The first slice takes her by surprise. She obviously didn't see the knife. The look of disbelief as he slices her again – priceless. She finally shows some spirit and stumbles back. Is she going to run? Actually provide him with some entertainment? Stupid bitch–she took a swipe at him. He can feel his neck stinging where her nails have caught him. She's going to pay for that. It's not meant to be his blood that's spilt – it should be hers. She does run then and he's swiping at her – she heading towards the kitchen. Is she planning to get a knife of her own? Naughty naughty. No more slices. The knife sinks in and gets a little stuck as it catches on bone. He's annoyed now–piece of shit isn't properly sharpened.

Scarlet sprays everywhere as he stabs in deep and wrenches it free. She's still fighting–twisting and turning as she tries to get away. Her hands have made pretty patterns on the walls in lovely red. He's kind to her now, finishes her off with one final deep blow and she's still. At peace. So peaceful with the white cleanliness of the kitchen now patterned in red. Peaceful.”

It took Stiles a few moments to realise Derek had finished speaking and was sat trembling in the chair. His pale skin had an unnatural tint to it, like the telling had exhausted him and his only movements were his fingers twisting against each other. Son of a bitch didn't look the murdering type but what other explanation was there?

The Captain handed Derek a glass of water whilst looking at Stiles but he still had nothing to say. As confessions went it was a doozy but they did happen. So what was with the psychic bullshit?

Having finished the water, Derek resumed speaking.

“ I came to in a lay-by close to my home. A girl was knocking on the window of the car, she gave me a cup of coffee. That’s how I made it home. Her name was Toni or something like that.”

“Wait, you're trying to say you didn't do this? Don't tell me, you're schizophrenic or something and it was your alter ego that actually killed her?”

“I'm merely providing you with the details of my alibi-I'm fully aware that telling you all of this places me firmly on your list of suspects.”

“Damned straight it does!”

“Look, Detective McCall - “

“I'm Stilinski, he's McCall.”

“Whatever.” Stiles couldn't help but bristle at how dismissive Derek sounded. “I came forward to tell you in the hope that it would help.”

“If you were so hot to help, why wait so long? You could have told us  _before_  it happened if you're that good!”

“I said psychic, not clairvoyant. There is a difference.”

“This is so much bullshit-Captain, you can't seriously-”

“I've told you everything I can. I've given your Captain Parrish all of my contact details and also some other people, police departments in other cities who can vouch for me. What you choose to do with that is entirely up to you.” Derek got to his feet, standing close enough that Stiles could see how finely grained his skin was, the lean column of his neck seeming to invite Stiles 's kiss, the pale-green eyes that were almost otherworldly in their beauty. He was still speaking but Stiles wasn't hearing the words, he was just looking at that mouth and wondering if those lips were as soft as they looked. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to pay attention.

“What do you mean, other police departments? What, you've peddled this pile of shit elsewhere?”

“Look, Detective, I didn't have to come here. And I don't have to take this from you. If you're too boneheaded to accept that there may be things out of the realm of your experience, I pity your narrow mindedness. Now, can you move out of the way please?!” It was only then that Stiles realised he was blocking Derek's exit as well as seriously invading his personal space. A quick glance at McCall showed his partner was obviously bemused by Hale’s story but also amused by Stiles 's behaviour. God-damn, he was practically poking Derek with his erection and he flushed, stepping back rapidly. What the hell was going on that Hale made him lose focus like this?

“We'll be in touch, Mr Hale. Thank you for coming in.” Captain Parrish's voice was courteous and Derek nodded before shifting around Stiles and opening the door. The bright red sneakers seemed a little incongruous with the bland outfit but definitely in line with the fieriness of Derek's temper. He so obviously wasn't some weak twink in search of a Daddy and Stiles found himself following the curve of that ass as Derek stomped out of the office. Psychic his aunt Mary, but he had to admit he wanted to know more about Derek, complete fruit-loop or not. “You wanna explain that?”

“Captain, you're not seriously telling me that guy didn't just jump right to the top of our meagre selection of suspects?”

“I wasn't talking about that and you know it. Whatever, Stilinski, you and McCall take this and make some calls. I want to know everything there is to know about Mr Hale by the end of the day.”

Snatching the offered folder out of the Captain's hand, Stiles barrelled his way out of the office, already flicking through the contents.

“If he was the killer he would have to be pretty stupid to come forward like that.” He flicked an irritated glance at McCall as he threw himself into his chair, a list of names and numbers in his hand.

“Maybe he wants us to think that way. Maybe he's trying to catch us off guard.” He frowned, trying to read the spidery handwriting. Looked like everything about Derek wasn't bordering on beautiful-his handwriting was atrocious.

“Then why come in? We had  _nothing_ -why bring himself to our attention?”

“How am I meant to understand how the weirdo's mind works?” He managed to decipher a full phone number and reached for the telephone.

“You better hope he's not our killer.” Mid-dial, he looked over at Scott, confused.

“Why?”

“I didn't think they allowed gay conjugal visits.” McCall was already ducking before Stiles had even picked up his stapler to throw at his head, and tossing it back onto his desk he ignored his partner's snickers and finished dialling the number he had deciphered. “Seriously, I get why you're still single if that's how you treat potential partners. Not exactly good form to be herding him into a corner and humping his leg.”

“I was NOT – you know what, fuck you! No, sorry, not you Ma'am. I was talking to-forget it. Look, can I speak to Detective Abrahams please? It's about Derek Hale.” He listened intently, frowning “No, nothing's happened to him-I just wanted to ask-yes, he seemed like a very nice-yes, his talent is amazing. Look, is Abrahams there?” He sighed as the woman at the other end of the phone finally stopped waxing lyrical about Derek and went to get Abrahams. Without looking up at his partner, he threw him the finger before grabbing a notepad and pen.


	6. Family

Arrogant, narrow-minded, know-nothing, excessively looming, judgmental son of a bitch. Derek couldn't remember the last time he had been so completely and utterly infuriated. It had been difficult enough going through the spiel with Captain Parrish. Quite obviously the man didn't suffer fools gladly, going through the folder Derek handed over before sitting down to listen to what he had to say. Derek had had to work very hard to pay attention so that he didn't give incoherent answers to the piercing questions that came his way. Once Parrish was convinced that talking to Derek wasn't a complete waste of time he had been quietly open-minded, listening to what Derek had to say with no sneers or snorts of disbelief. It had no doubt helped that he knew the names of at least three of the people on the list in Derek's folder.

There had been no attempt to sugar-coat things when he discussed bringing Stilinski and McCall in – he had outright said that McCall might attempt to keep an open mind and hear Derek out but that Stilinski was going to be calling bullshit almost immediately. Derek had thought he was prepared but when Stiles Stilinski actually walked into Parrish's office it had been like someone grabbed him by the balls. The man was tall – not a mountain but well over six foot with broad shoulders. His face was handsome without being particularly jaw-dropping but his eyes. Good God, one look into those eyes had Derek forgetting his name and wanting to fall to the ground and offer himself. Light, golden brown, with a slight tinge of what looked like gold; dark lashes forming a beautiful lush frame; the intelligence so obvious. But it had been the lust in them that had taken Derek's breath away. He wasn't a virgin but he didn't have masses of experience – certainly nothing in his life had prepared for the way Stilinski had looked at him: he had felt stripped bare and the other men in the room had completely ceased to exist. It was all he could do not to jump to his feet and throw himself into the other man's arms.

Saying what he had to say after that was almost anticlimactic. Almost. But then the Neanderthal had opened his mouth and spewed out all of the judgemental, narrow-minded crap that Derek had been hearing his whole life and any lust had been drowned out by his intense irritation. He remembered getting into Stilinski's face about his prejudices before basically stomping out of there in a diva tantrum worthy of the best but that was it until he was ten minutes down the road and trying to remember where he had parked his car.

Retracing his footsteps, he was just glad that it wasn't raining. He had left the CR-V behind the bookstore and walked to the precinct as he had thought he would be too nervous to drive there. Now he felt like he was trying to make himself as small as possible as he walked past the tall building again, a sigh of relief escaping him as he didn't see anyone he recognised. He had a split-second mental image of Detective Stilinski leaning back in a chair, a pen between his teeth before he closed his eyes and shook his head, sure he was hallucinating. He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like to 'tune in' to Stilinski's mind – the man was an unmitigated asshole.

Letting himself into the store, he left the sign at closed. He needed to relax and calm down before he even thought about opening up the store, and not for the first time he was grateful that the store was his and he could open or close to suit himself. The ringing of the telephone made him put on a spurt of speed as he made his way as quickly as possible to the small office situated at the back, bashing his shin on the desk just as he picked up the receiver.

“Fuck-”

“Boy, is that how I taught you to answer the phone?” Just hearing Marmee's voice was enough to bring tears to his eyes and he fell into his office chair, hand going to his face to scrub them away.

“Marmee-”

“What's wrong?”

“It's back.”

“Oh Lord.” She put so much feeling into those two words, he suddenly had an image of her as clear as daylight. She was tucked up in her favourite chair in her living room, surrounded by knitting, xBox controllers and books. Her white hair was hidden by a dark blue bandana with a flame pattern which clashed with her scarlet glasses and deep pink lipstick. It looked like she was wearing a Fangtasia tee-shirt he and the other kids had bought her for Christmas after she had gone on and on about Alexander Skarsgaard and what an excellent Eric Northman he made. Being with Marmee, even just listening to her voice felt so completely opposite to the dystopia his daily life was swiftly becoming made it even harder not to cry. “What happened?”

“A murder – a nasty one. I went to the police today.”

“How did that go?” He was so glad she didn't ask for more details about the murder. Sometimes people who knew about his “talent” wanted to know details, completely ignorant to what it did to him. Marmee never forgot. She was always the first one to ask him how he was and she was the first one he had run to six years ago. She was his foundation, his family because she chose to be, not by accident of birth. It made her all the more precious.

“Humph.”

“Derek-” Her voice was warning and questioning at the same time.

“There was a detective who was a complete bastard. He didn't just not believe me, he was a major dick about it.” His anger returned just like that.

“What did he look like honey?”

“What the hell did it matter what he looked like? You should have heard him, asking me why I didn't come forward before she was killed as if it even works that way.”

“How would he have known that baby? Maybe you just need to educate him a bit.”

“I'd like to educate him right off a cliff!!” He spoke through gritted teeth, determined not to take his anger out on her.

“Now that doesn't even make sense. What stage will they be at?” Marmee had been through this as many times as he had and knew there were various steps the police were no doubt already taking. He thought about it briefly, stunned by a now crystal-clear snapshot of Detective Stiles Stilinski, leaning back precariously on a chair, telephone handset to his ear. So clear an image he could almost reach out and tap him on the arm, push him off that chair and onto his arrogant ass. That had never happened before, not so easily and certainly not with someone who wasn't family. It made the hairs stand up on the nape of his neck. “Derek?”

“He's speaking to Detective Abrahams, so I guess that means his partner is talking to Dr Deaton.”

“Honey, did you just see him?” He had hated that sometimes as a kid, how Marmee just knew stuff. Of course, it had made accepting his own gifts that little bit easier, but when he was younger and angry at his birth mother and the world at large he had sometimes hated how she just seemed to know whether he needed a hug, a mindless chore to undertake or a good talking to.

“Yes, clear as day in my head which is strange but maybe, this time, things are mutating. Dr Deaton said that sometimes things change over time and with age.”

“Mmm hmmm. You keep believing that. I gotta go one of my friends has just come online for our game. I will see you on Sunday for dinner.”

“I'll have to see -”

“It wasn't a question Derek, it was a statement of fact. I'll see you on Sunday. And in the meantime, maybe cut your detective some slack-he's probably never met anyone like you before baby.”

“You mean a freak like me.” He sounded like a petulant child but he couldn't help it.

“I mean someone as special as you with your gifts. Don't let me hear you call yourself a freak again.”

“I'm sorry Marmee. I love you.”

“I love you too honey. Later.” Derek put the phone back into its cradle reluctantly. The way Detective Stilinski had looked at him, more so than Captain Parrish or Detective McCall, had struck a nerve. He finally admitted to himself that he would have liked the detective to keep looking at him with lust, to view him as an attractive man, not as the main suspect in a murder and definitely not as a mentally challenged freak. It had been a very long time since Derek had wanted someone to view him as attractive and he sat and let that sink in. Detective Stilinski wasn't even his type-just too _everything_. Which was strange because, in comparison, Derek looked like the more muscular of the two of them. Maybe Stilinski just gave off an aura of strength?

He couldn't afford to think of Stiles Stilinski as anything other than yet another detective who needed to be convinced that Derek could be helpful. He needed to think of Stiles Stilinski exactly the same way as he viewed Scott McCall, although somehow he didn't think that was going to work. He'd never been any good at denying the truth abut things, mores the pity.

With a shrug and a deep sigh, he turned to his computer and opened up the store inventory. He wasn't quite sure who Stiles Stilinski was and why he was having this reaction to him but he was very much afraid that in the coming days and weeks he was going to be forced to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you see any glaring errors - this is beta'd only by me and my brain isn't working quite as well since the stroke so I probably have missed a few things.
> 
> Thank you


	7. Intermission - Mind of a Killer

He scrubbed at his hands, the bristles of the nail brush harsh against his skin.

Clean. He needed to get clean.

Not that he was ever really clean. His mother had been very clear on that. Bad enough he worked with his hands but he was always so dirty.

She never thought the money he gave her was dirty, though.

He should be riding a high. She had been a challenge, something different to what he had expected when she had come in complaining. Whining. So many of them were such whiners.

But he'd been stupid. He'd made a mess. Having to cut off her fingers had ruined it and it had been such a beautiful, clean scene. All those crisps reds and whites, her gaze forever seeing the beauty of what they created together. But it was ruined now, the loud clip, clip as he took her fingers spoiling things, making them dirty.

Clean. He needed it to be clean.

He kept scrubbing.


	8. A little more information please......

“The man is a combination of Mother Theresa and Barack Obama!” It had been an incredibly frustrating few hours, each phone call getting worse and worse. Hale had to have paid some of those people to say the nice things they said and Stiles was sick to death of hearing it. Although each time he heard what a 'good guy' Derek was, it made something in his chest ease although he had no idea why.

“Come on Stiles!”

“Seriously, there isn't a single person on that list that doesn't think the sun shines out of Derek Hale's ass! Even the people who **don't** like him can't say anything bad about him!”

Disgruntled, Stiles buried his head in his hands when he spoke again, his voice was muffled. “What I don't get is how many people are believing this stuff. I spoke to two detectives – not wet behind the ears patrolmen but years in service, and three other people who Hale assisted and not one of them thought what he claimed he could do was strange or unreal.”

“I had a talk to a Dr Deaton – he works out of some institute based in Seattle.”

“Finally! What, was he locked away in a mental institution or something?”

“Far from it. Dr Deaton said Derek Hale is one of the sanest people he knows. He also asked why we were calling and requested that when we speak to Hale and ask for his help – not if but when – that we pass on the message that the good doctor would like to hear from him.”

“I do not believe this.” Tugging at his hair, Stiles looked up at his partner. “What are your thoughts?”

“I think we need to keep an open mind. There are more things between land and sky than we can ever hope to understand.”

“Oh for fu- don't tell me he got to you too?”

“Hey, buddy, I wasn't the one poking at him with my own personal billy club! I'm just saying the man's reputation seems to be pretty solid. And we're not talking a couple of case either. Hale helped the police in Philly with _seven_ different cases and made a difference in all of them. Up until six years ago, the guy could have made bank doing the talk shows and shit, yet he kept his head down unless he was helping out. What are you doing?” Stiles was rummaging through the file, searching for one particular piece of paper.

“Six years ago – I read something in here about a big case six years ago. Where has he been since then?” Not finding what he was looking for, Stiles turned his computer on and typed Hale's name into the search engine. To his surprise, no social media links showed up – no facebook, no twitter or myspace. There were a couple of dead ends but then he clicked on a link from a newspaper in Philadelphia. Scott came to stand behind him, reading over his shoulder as he sped-read vague details regarding a serial killer, the story actually concentrated more on the mystery person who had been helping the police, two paragraphs outlining the history of the serial killer and then- “He was kidnapped by the killer.”

“Yep but he survived and got to the police.”

“That's not what it says.”

“What are you seeing that I'm not seeing?”

“The perp was gunned down but not before he killed the last victim and suddenly there's no more mention of their _helper_.

“Who do we know on the Philadelphia Inquirer?” Scott stood back, obviously deep in thought. 

“Maybe we could get some more information.”

“Actually, I really wanna get to that food truck, talk to Hale's main alibi. Can you touch base with Philly while I do that?”

“Yeah, yeah. There's a woman in the copy department I can hit up, see what she can find out for me. You don't want company?”

“Nah, I'll hit it on the way home.” Closing down his computer, he grabbed his jacket, eager to speak to the woman who represented the main part of Hale's alibi. “Catch up tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a plan. I'll let Captain Parrish know what we've got so far.” Turning away, Scott began gathering up the contents of the folder and putting them into order before slipping them back into the case.

“Scott ?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you send me the details on the doctor – the one from that Institute Derek attended?”

“I already spoke to him.”

“I know – I just – I'd kinda like to talk with him myself.”

“Hey, I know you don't think I messed up that questioning.”

“Hell, no, you know I trust you more than myself.” Pulling his jacket on, Stiles avoided Scott 's gaze. “I just-”

“You wanna ask him more about Derek.”

“I'm curious.”

“Curious my ass. Oh my God, you have got the serious hots for this guy!”

“Fuck you – I thought you were going to see the Captain.”

“Always got time to ride your ass – no pun intended.”

“You are such a dick – just send it to my cell okay?” Managing to avoid Scott 's laughing eyes, Stiles turned to head out of the office.

“Hey Stilinski?”

“What?” He knew it was a mistake to stop and turn around – he knew he was just opening the door to more derision. But he did it anyway.

“Do I need to get my tux from the dry-cleaners? I mean this has all the makings of a whirlwind romance and I want to be prepared.”

“Maybe I should be asking you that question – what was the name of the guard at the Castle house? Argent or something wasn't it?”

“Hey, do you think he can read _our_ minds? I mean, mine was pretty clean but I imagine yours was a bit of a cesspit!”

“He's can't read minds – don't be such a horse's ass.” Striding off towards the entrance, he turned back to his partner of over seven years. “Do **you** think he can read minds?”

“Talk to the doctor – he can reassure you. And hey your head's a brick wall – bullets can't penetrate it so I would imagine Derek can't either!”

Giving his over-worked middle finger one last outing, Stiles left the precinct, already reaching for his cell. True to form, Scott had already sent the details on Dr Deaton as well as the address of a local bookstore. He was going to be methodical about this, keep it cool and logical. Speaking to this Toni woman would either confirm or deny Derek's alibi. Of course, just because he was where he said didn't mean that Derek and the killer weren't somehow working together. But it would be a start. If it stuck, if Derek was telling the truth about where he had been, Stiles would call Deaton and then maybe pay a visit to the book-store.

He wasn't sure what this thing was – he had never believed in insta-love, hadn't ever been hit by instant lust even but that didn't mean it didn't exist, didn't happen. Just not to him. Stiles got the feeling that the next few weeks were going to be challenging, both professionally and personally.


	9. A Frustrating Week....

“He was kinda hot – looked all dazed and whatnot. I could see him from the truck and he was staring into space, and then it was like he dropped off to sleep or something. S'not safe to sleep here all night – some of the guys who come by the truck would kill you as soon as look at you. So I took him a cup of coffee. It was about half one in the morning and it was quiet so I thought why not?!”

Making notes rapidly, Stiles asked his next question.

“Was he here the whole time? I mean, there's no way you missed him leaving?”

“Nope. He pulled in here in a hurry and I thought he'd been caught short, you know? Like he was going to take a leak in the bushes – you would be surprised how many people seem to think that's okay. But he just sorta sat there. My cousin, Poppy, she has epilepsy but sometimes it's not the shakes and seizures – sometimes she's like eerily still. Like she can hold off a real fit by staying still.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He wasn't really a talker. Although my Mom says no one is around me because I talk a little too much! Anyhow he told me his name – said it was Derek which I thought sounded real bland for such a good looking guy, you know? And then he says thanks for the coffee and that was pretty much it.”

“So he drove in, parked up in a hurry and was just sat in his car for a little over two hours, at which point you went over and gave him a cup of coffee. Don't you think that was a bit risky? He could have been anyone, a danger for all you knew.”

“You sound like my Moms.” Toni popped her bubblegum loudly while she played with her pink hair and stared at Stiles . “The guy was completely out of it, like some sorta torpor. What? I know what that word means – just because I look after a food truck doesn't mean I'm stupid!” Toni looked supremely offended and Stiles held both hands up in silent apology.

“Hey, I didn't say anything!”

“Yeah, well you have a speaking face. Look, did this guy do something – is he like, okay?” Now she looked concerned and once again, Stiles wondered what it was about the man that cast this kind of spell over everyone he met.

“I'm sorry, Ms Richardson, I didn't mean to imply anything about your intelligence. And no, Mr Hale isn't suspected of anything – we're just following up on a few details.”

“Well, good, cos between you and me, I'm kinda hoping he comes back. He was all kindsa cute.” Stiles couldn't help it, his eyebrows rising to his hairline as the two of them shared a look. “Don't tell me – he's gay.”

“I have no idea of Mr Hale's sexual orientation.” Although he could give a good guess and had hopes of his own.

“And  _you've_  got the hots for him.” Stiles could barely believe he was standing there suddenly avoiding the all too perceptive gaze of a girl barely out of her teens.

“Thank you so much for your time, I really appreciate it. We'll get back to you if we need any further information.”

“Okay cool, you don't want to talk about it. I get it. So if he does come back, do I have to pretend I haven't spoken to you or anything? Is this all hush hush?”

“No that's fine. If you see Mr Hale again, you don't have to worry about saying anything out of turn. Goodnight and thanks for the coffee.”

“No big. Hey, if you guys get together, come on by. I always appreciate a little eye candy – a girl can get bored out here.” He hid his smirk behind his coffee cup, refusing to rise to the bait.

“You stay safe Ms Richardson. Goodnight.” Finishing his free coffee, Stiles strode back to his car. It looked like Derek had been telling the truth about his whereabouts, which meant that so far he'd told the truth. Checking his watch, Stiles wondered if it was too late to call Dr Deaton. After ten seemed kinda late but it  _was_  a murder investigation. Starting the engine on his truck, he looked at his cell. No, he couldn't justify calling Deaton this late, not when McCall had already done so. Not when in all honesty his questions were not solely related to the case which he had to admit to himself. And apparently he was transparent in his interest which was damned annoying and which Deaton might well pick up on.

Besides, before he spoke to Deaton, he wanted to see Derek again. Maybe this attraction was fleeting and wouldn't withstand another meeting. Yeah, right.

However, just because he wanted to concentrate as much as possible on finding out things about Derek Hale, didn’t mean Stiles actually got to do that. The Castle murder case was not the only one he and Scott were working on and frustratingly enough, he wasn’t getting anywhere on the others either.

So far, paperwork had been mislaid on three cases that simply required putting into storage; a bank robbery turned out to be a rather boring inside job, McCall had long since run out of witty things to say about Stiles’ attraction to Derek Hale, and Stiles was sick of playing phone tag with one Doctor Deaton. Four days and he’d had just about enough. Time to see if he could persuade the Captain that a person visit was viable and advantageous. His curiosity was killing him and the idea that Derek Hale might be of assistance in a murder that seemed to be going nowhere fast had to be considered. If he didn’t know better, he would be forced to consider the fact that the Doctor didn’t want to speak to him on the phone. So if the mountain wouldn’t come to him…..

“What?”

“Requesting permission to visit Seattle sir.”

“Stilinski—you do realise that the city’s budget is not here for your little jaunts right? What the hell do you need to go to Seattle for?” Parrish was sat behind his desk, picking at what looked to be a healthy salad drenched in dressing. Stiles stifled a sigh, well aware that no doubt his father was doing something similar back in Beacon Hills –it was a good reminder to give the old man a call and check on his eating habits. In the meantime..

“I need to speak to Dr Deaton and I think he’s dodging my calls.”

“Didn’t McCall already speak to him? I had a look at the report—Hale apparently comes out clean as a whistle. We keep an eye on him but it’s doubtful he could have fooled all of the people on that list he gave us. He’s not really a person of interest anymore.”

“Yeah, McCall spoke to him but I was hoping for a bit of clarification on his ‘gift’. If what these people are saying is true—“

“Still not a believer Stilinski?”

“—I’m not saying that. I just think if this guy is involved in things somehow, we need to know all the details. And this Deaton could be the key.”

“Fine. You’re flying coach, no extra leg-room. And I want a full report when you get back. Have I had the report on that robbery yet?”

“Yeah, McCall was working on that so you should get it later today. I’ll get in touch with the airport, get myself a flight. Thanks, Chief.”

“Yeah, yeah. And don’t think I didn’t notice your _interest_ in Hale. Just, for God’s sake, make sure he’s not a murderer before you start dating him—I don’t think the department could cope with the publicity!” Stiles acknowledged the smirk on his Captain’s face with a sarcastic nod before leaving the office while he could. He hadn’t expected Parrish to be so amicable to the idea of him travelling to Seattle but was going to make the most of it. He wanted to meet this Deaton guy and find out if Hale was the real deal. And maybe get some hints on how to handle him—he was probably going to need all the help he could get.


	10. Living for the Weekend

Saturdays were good. They were always good. 

People out of patience, showing their ugliness. Harsh words spoken with no thought. Saturdays were very often good hunting days. 

She was making it so easy. 

There was nothing wrong with the work that had been done, nothing at all. He stood there silently, letting her abusive words fly over his head while he imagined what she would look like after he had finished with her. He could imagine wide staring eyes, a smile etched onto her face by the skill of his blade instead of the scowl she was currently wearing.

“Are you even listening to me?! Where's your supervisor?”

“Of course I'm listening and I can only apologise if you're not happy with the work that's been completed. My supervisor is unavailable at the moment so it's just me here. Can you leave it here now? Or perhaps later in the week?”

“Are you—can you fix it over the next week?”

“If you can leave it here on Wednesday evening, I can deliver it back to you on Thursday.” He waited patiently on the outside but inside he felt jittery and hyper—that would fit so perfectly with his schedule—all she had to do was say yes.

“You know what? I'm really sorry. I've been such a bitch to you and it's not even your fault. Seriously, I hate it when people complain unfairly and look at me, doing exactly the same thing. Will you please accept my apology?” She was so sincere he could barely stop himself from punching her in the face just to feel her teeth shatter under his fist. How dare she apologise and ruin everything? She was a completely useless to him now—useless, useless waste of space.

“Of course, I completely understand.”

“I'll drop it off later in the week but don't worry about delivering it, my husband can come and grab it.”

“Whatever works for you ma'am.” He held onto his temper as she left but as soon as she'd gone he had to go into the bathroom to try to hide his rage from his co-workers. He punched the towel dispenser, the pain in his knuckles helping to drain off some of his rage.

He could wait.

There was bound to be another one. There always was.


	11. An Informative Weekend

Deaton was a little under six feet tall, dark chocolate skin with a shaved head. He came across as quite congenial, greeting Stiles with enthusiasm and inviting him into his office to talk quite happily. Of course, from there, he seemed to get more and more cryptic until Stiles was pretty sure he was ready to commit violence against the good Doctor. 

“How was Derek when you saw him? I hope you understand just how rare a gift such as his can be. He is an extraordinary young man you know.”

“Yes, I got that from everyone we spoke to. And when I met Mr Hale, he seemed quite well albeit selling a slightly difficult to swallow story."

"Oh? Not a believer Detective Stilinski?"

"I'm not sure what I believe Dr Deaton. I'm here hoping you can give me an insight into Mr Hale, something that will help me remove him from our list of suspects." Deaton stared at Stiles across the desk, head tilted slightly as he appeared to examine him thoughtfully. 

"You're not here because Derek is a suspect—you're here for personal reasons."

"Why would you think that?"

"I have a little talent all of my own. Unfortunately, it doesn't work over a distance—I need to be face to face with the subject to be able to _read_ anything."

"Oh my—are you telling me you're psychic too? Is **this** why you avoided my calls?" Annoyed, Stiles leaned back in his chair as though it would stop Deaton from playing his mind games. He didn't like how clearly the Doctor seemed to see through his 'professional' questions to the personal interest beneath.

"Having spoken to Detective McCall, he seemed quite happy with what I had to say—that Derek was exactly who and what he said he was. Your continued interest, the sheer number of messages you left for me, seemed a tad more personal which is why I was hoping you would choose to visit me. You are not the first person to express an interest in Derek. However, you are the first person who has asked me questions about him as a person and a man rather than as a subject or 'freak'." 

"So, what, you're playing the pseudo father role—checking out any interested parties before they get too close? This bull isn't why I came, Dr Deaton and I resent you wasting police time."

"Come now, Detective Stilinski. You know something of what Derek has been through in his lifetime. Do you not think he is deserving of someone to look out for his interests? He has been the victim of prurient curiosity his entire life—I am merely ensuring that he is wanted for himself."

"And you can tell that just from sitting across from me? Reading my mind or my intentions like tarot cards? Come on, Doctor, do you seriously expect me to believe all of this? Is that what your Institute is based on—crackpot ideas that you can read peoples' minds and intentions?"

"There's no need to be insulting Detective Stilinski. I apologise if I have offended you but the institute has a fine reputation, deserved I might add, for our research into senses above and beyond the norm." For the first time since the visit had begun, Deaton's facial expression smoothed into a bland mask, no longer quite so smug. "When I first met Derek, he had barely come out of a coma caused by a severe trauma. I watched as he fought his way back to life and rebuilt everything, I have the utmost respect for him and as such, I care what happens to him and his family."

Realising that Deaton really had not intended to waste his time, merely wanted to utilise all of the skills at his disposal, Stiles found himself softening. Besides, what the Doctor had revealed so far matched everything Stiles had heard from other sources and whether he believed in all of this hoo-doo voodoo or not, he couldn’t fault the man for trying to find out what he could.

"You said he was in a coma?"

"A story you will have to get from him as it's not mine to share. I hope your intentions are honourable Detective."

"As honourable as the next man I hope. I do have one question—definitely relating to the case, if you don't mind me asking."

"Go ahead."

"Mr Hale—Derek—assisted in all of those cases before whatever happened six years ago. Do you sincerely think he could help us with this one?"

"I think if Derek's talent has returned, perhaps even intensified, he could be your greatest asset. My main concern would be at what risk to himself," 

And with that more cryptic and annoying comment, it seemed Dr Deaton had nothing further to say. He wouldn’t say his trip had been a complete success but at least now he could pay a visit to Derek and be a little more prepared.

* * *

His white shirt felt stiff and too tight around the collar and he wondered if he had time to change. Checking his watch, Derek stifled his sigh. It was a thirty-minute drive over to Marmee's house even on a Sunday and she hated it when the kids were late. That was assuming his brothers and sisters would be there – at any time, they could be scattered around the country although they  **all**  congregated on Marmee's birthday without fail.

Shrugging into his denim jacket, he grabbed his car keys and opened the front door, a gasp knocked out of him as he came face to face with Detective Stiles Stilinski.

“What the hell do you want?” Refusing to be intimidated, he tried to move forward, frustrated by the man's refusal to step backwards.

“Good morning Mr Hale.”

“It's Sunday Detective. What do you want with me on a Sunday?”

“Crime-busting does not take a day of rest.”

“Really? You're coming out with that line of crap with a straight face?” He wanted to shove Stilinski out of the way but was very reluctant to touch him.

“No, I'm sorry, that was a douche line. But you rub me up the wrong way.”

“ **I**  rub you up the wrong way?! You're the one calling me a schizophrenic freak murderer!”

“I did not – okay, I kinda did but I didn't mean it the way you took it.” Stiles finally took a step back although it wasn't far enough to let Derek out of the house without having to touch him.

“So, what – you believe me now?”

“I believe you were where you said you were. And if you're our guy or linked to our guy, you'd have to be pretty stupid to bring yourself to our attention.”

“So I take it I'm no longer of interest?”

“I didn't say that.”

“What – you have  **got**  to be kidding me!” Derek knew his mouth was hanging open but he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Stiles was looking at him the way he had wanted him to at the precinct but it completely threw Derek off guard. Surely he didn't mean-

“You not gay?”

“I didn't say that.”

“You're not interested?” Derek so wanted to lie – he wanted to look into those eyes that today were more brown than gold and tell the man to go to hell. It was most definitely what he deserved.

“You think I'm a nut-case. Or worse, joined at the hip with a murderer.”

“I – okay, so I have some issues but I'm happy to work through them.”

“Look, Detective, I don't do hook-ups. If you're wanting a shot at my ass just so you can say you hit that, you have come to the wrong place.”

“Hey, wait a minute-”

“Or are you daring yourself? Want to screw a freak? A walk on the wild side maybe?” Derek knew he sounded bitter but somehow couldn't make himself stop. “Thanks but I've had my share of pity fucks where the whole time the other guy is thinking how brave he is to even  _touch_  the psychic freak so -”

Soft warm lips hit his, damming up the bitter flow of words as Stiles pulled Derek into his arms. The kiss was insistent but not rough, mobile lips pressing and stroking, coaxing him to relax and open. Derek managed to resist for a moment but Stiles simply waited, his arms a loose cage, his lips pressing gently. How did you resist someone who wasn't pushing, who was simply waiting? And what complete and utter bliss, there was nothing coming through. He couldn't hear any of Stiles 's thoughts, whether he thought he was being brave kissing the psychic freak, whether this was some sort of test or a way to manipulate Derek. There was nothing but the warmth of a broad, tall body holding him, firm lips pressing against his, the only push the pressure of an erection firming against his stomach. Subtle proof that perhaps this was honest, that Stiles Stilinski wanted him just because he wanted him.

Parting his lips, Derek tilted his head slightly to realign them before he let go and relaxed. God, the man could kiss. The arms around him tightened and almost automatically Derek wriggled his arms beneath Stiles 's so that his palms were pressing against the broad muscles of Stiles 's lower back, pulling him closer. A questing tongue flicked into his mouth and he answered in kind. He could taste the coffee Stiles had obviously had that morning; the hint of toothpaste underlying that; the subtle taste of  _him_. It was invigorating. And still nothing – no hint of anything apart from the honest desire Stiles was making no attempt to hide.

Derek began to feel light-headed as they barely took a breath, unable to think of anything but Stiles holding him tight. He had never, ever kissed anyone and not been able to “hear” his partners thoughts and he knew that was at least partially responsible for how he was feeling. For the first time, he could actually understand how people got carried away by passion. This was almost all-consuming – he wanted more, needed to touch skin, get closer. It was overwhelming. Stiles 's grip around him loosened slightly, sliding gently downwards until a large hand slipped over the waistband of his jeans and squeezed his ass-cheek.

“Do you ever wear tight fitting clothes? I would  _kill_  to see this ass in something tight”. The words were muttered against his lips before Stiles tried to kiss him again but they were just enough to give Derek the nudge back towards sanity. What in the hell did he think he was doing? Taking advantage of Stiles 's surprise and loosened grip, he avoided the mouth aimed at his and pushed backwards. He wasn't surprised that Stiles didn't release him – that would be too easy – but at least he could breathe again which meant he could engage his brain.

“Detective -”

“Stiles.”

“Detective - “

“Bearing in mind you just had my tongue in your mouth, I think we're past those sort of formalities don't you?” The bastard sounded amused but Derek refused to look at him. The man's eyes should be registered as a lethal weapon and he was not going to let Stiles use them against him. But he did have a point.

“Fine, Stiles. I think this was a mistake and I would like you to let me go please.”

“Didn't feel like a mistake to me.”

“That's because your brains reside in your trousers.”

“Ha – only when it comes to you, dude.”

“Don't call me dude and will you please let go of me?” Pressing his hands against the warmth of Stiles 's chest, Derek was momentarily distracted by the way it felt. Stiles seemed to be solid muscle damned near all over and Derek could feel the solid lub-lub of his heartbeat through the thin cotton of his tee-shirt. So vibrant, so full of life.

“What if I don't want to let you go? And I gotta tell you, you're giving me mixed messages with the way you're stroking my chest.”

“I am not str – oh! I'm not now – please just let me go.” Making a conscious effort not to stroke, Derek gave Stiles a push, gratified when the other man moved backwards. “Thank you. Now, what do you want – apart from to molest my person.”

“World peace would be nice but I'd settle for another kiss.”

“Huh? This is ridiculous – I have somewhere to be – is this an official visit or can I ask you to go away?”

“Hell no – I don't kiss people when I'm working! Where are you going?”

“It's none of your damn business where I'm going.”

“I was just asking – I can always just follow you. After all, you are a person of interest.”

“NO! Don't you even think about following me! And what do you mean I'm a person of interest? You said my alibi checked out!” Derek shuddered at the thought of what Marmee would make of the detective following him around. He already knew he was going to be grilled about the man – how much worse if Marmee could interrogate Stiles ? The woman should have been either a detective or a prosecuting attorney – he'd seen street kids crumble under her scrutiny.

“I meant person of interest to me. I told you, I don't mess about on the department's time – if I follow you today, it's because I want to see you, spend more time with you. I'm not the hit it then quit it type. Besides, maybe I want to find out who you're all dressed up to see.” Derek scowled, then frowned knowing that if Stiles decided to follow him there was little he could do about it. And he was definitely going to be late now.

“If I tell you where I'm going, will you promise not to follow me?”

“If I don't follow you, will you go out for a drink with me?”

“You are so infuriating!”

“And you're being stubborn. I'm not the only one feeling this. And I wasn't the only one into that kiss.” Stiles gestured downwards with his eyes and Derek flushed a painful red when he looked down and realised his erection was plain to see even through the bagginess of his jeans.

“I'm going to see my Marmee.”

“Your who?”

“Marmee – it's what we call my mother.”

“You don't have a mother – she left you at the police station.” Derek winced at the less than tactful reminder of his mother's abandonment of him and that Stiles had looked deeply into his background. His spine stiffened.

“She may not have given birth to me – to us – but she's the only mother we've ever had or needed. Now are you going to move out of the way? I'm late enough as it is.”

“Jeez, I'm sorry – that was – look, I may not have a silver tongue but I'm normally not this tactless, I swear. Come on, Derek, give me something here. What's it going to take to get you to spend some time with me?”

“Why do you want to? Why me? I would imagine you can get laid elsewhere and you don't seem to like what you do know of me so why bother?” Edging around Stiles, Derek moved closer to his car. The whole conversation had taken a depressing turn with mention of his birth mother and he was truly confused as to what Stiles wanted with him. He wasn't exaggerating – Stiles should be able to go out any night of the week and get laid, so why was he here, bothering Derek, messing up his ordered life?

“Maybe I want to learn who you are – besides the whole psychic thing. Maybe there is something about you that interests me. And yeah, I could get laid elsewhere but that wouldn't tell me where that little streak of white in your hair came from.” Stiles 's voice had lowered, his tone deliberately seductive but this time it had no effect on Derek whatsoever.

Derek knew he had gone white, his face freezing into a polite mask as he took a big step backwards away from Stiles, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He needed to get away and he needed to do it now. Stiles seemed to realise he had said something wrong, his hand reaching out to touch Derek's arm but he stepped back even further.

“I'm glad you're fascinated by my hair Detective, but all you had to do was ask. The white streak happened when I was held captive by the last serial killer I helped the police with so I guess you have your answer. Now that your curiosity has been assuaged, I'll say goodbye – please tell your Captain Parrish I'll happily deal with anyone but you.” With those frosty words hanging in the air, Derek climbed into his CR-V, started the engine and reversed expertly out of his driveway. His last view of Stiles was of him kicking at the gravel at his feet, obviously cursing himself for his last comments and watching Derek drive away.


	12. Family by Choice

By the time he made it to Marmee's house, Derek had calmed down a little although he was still feeling as confused as hell. Stiles Stilinski had  **no**  right to make Derek feel the way he had, no right to wake up long forgotten wants and desires and then drop him back into memories of hell. It would be really, really easy to hate him for it.

He looked at Marmee's front door and the driveway cluttered with three haphazardly parked cars belonging to some of his siblings and felt completely exhausted. He didn't think he was up to spending the time with his family, no matter how much he loved them. They were too intrusive, too  _perceptive_  for his current state of mind. Something else to be pissed at Stiles for—he'd almost been looking forward to seeing Marmee. And damn but she was gonna bust his head open for not going in. There wasn't a big enough excuse in the world that she would accept but he just wasn't up to it.

“You gonna sit there all day or you coming in?” Derek banged his head on the window turning to face his sister Lydia as she stood outside his car and he scowled at her. Lydia took absolutely no notice of him at all, gesturing to the door so he knew she wanted him to unlock the car. He didn't have to—he could put the car in gear and drive off while she was walking around the back of the car in order to climb into the passenger seat. Of course, she might be up on his tricks because she walked around the  _front_  of the car, keeping her eye on him the whole time. Realising he had no choice, he flicked the lock to open the door.

Dropping into the passenger seat, Lydia popped her chewing gum loudly, rearranging the hem of her skirt and wriggling around to make herself comfortable. He knew what she was doing—she was trying to use the silence to make him talk first but he'd been through way too many police interrogations to fall for that one.

“Why do I get the feeling you're not coming in?”

“Erm—I was—“

“No excuses, Derek, Marmee's been looking forward to seeing you all this week.”

“She'll understand.”

“Wow, have you spent so much time away from her that you've forgotten what she's like?!” The sarcastic tone of voice dragged a smile from him as Lydia flicked a chunk of her red-gold hair back from her face, pursing lips painted a deep, glossy coral. Derek gave her a quick once-over, pleased to see she was looking healthy. Last year, Lydia had let life get on top of her and had gone nearly too far on her latest dietary effort. Nothing any of them said would convince her she was bordering on too slender and it had taken a mass family intervention and Marmee threatening to tie her down and force-feed her whilst showing her the ropes she planned to use to wake her up to reality. Fortunately, Marmee had a friend who was a therapist who had taken Lydia on, and since then she was handling things better. She was back up to a healthy weight, her arms and legs no longer covered in a fine down of hair. She looked good.

“You're looking good Lyds.”

“Changing the subject. And you know I don't like being called Lyds.”

“No, not changing the subject, I just wanted to make sure that I said it.”

“Hmm. So you coming in?”

“I'm not sure I'm in the mood.”

“Marmee told me it was back.” He'd known she would. The whole family nearly always knew each other's business. Sometimes it was a real pain in the ass but Derek knew it was just their way of looking out for each other. Growing up in Marmee's house with a variety of foster kids and occasionally adopted ones, you soon learned that family needed to be there for each other, whether it was fighting off school bullies who liked to get on at you about your lack of parents to members of the press who wanted to hound you and didn't care about decency or respect.

“Yeah. It was in the press.”

“That woman who got stabbed?” He nodded. Lydia was another one who tried really hard to understand and not press for too many details. “Guess that's why Marmee's so insistent about you coming in today. You look like you need some family time.”

“Maybe. It's just—I've got something else on my mind.” As soon as he said it, Derek could have kicked himself. Give any member of his family an inch, show the smallest crack in your defences and they were in there at speed.

“OH! You mean your detective?” He could tell Lydia was trying to hide her smirk but she wasn't having much success.

“He's not  _my_  detective.”

“Uh huh, that's not what Marmee says. Oh, is he why you're late?”

“Not for the reasons you're thinking so get your mind out of the gutter!”

“Excuse me, I wasn't the one who took it there—that would be you! Besides, all Marmee said was that you saw him without trying and that you were the most animated that she'd seen you in years!” Lydia put her hand on his leg. “She just worries about you Derek—she wants you to be happy, have a full life. You didn't die when Gerard—“

“NO! We're not talking about that.”

“Derek—“

“No! I mean it. If you guys want me in there so you can talk about what happened years ago, then let's just forget it right now.” Derek could feel his fingers clenching on the steering wheel as he tried not to lose his temper with his sister. Why was everyone so intent on dragging up the past? He knew they meant well but he so wasn't up for this. It seemed like everywhere he turned people wanted to remind him of a time in his life when all the light had gone out of his world and it  **hurt**.

“I'm sorry Derek, I promise, no one wants to drag you back down. It's just, you're gonna have to talk to your detective about this sooner or later—don't you think it would be easier if you didn't leap for the ceiling every single time Gerard's name is mentioned?”

“I told you, he's not my detective! And I won't have to tell Stiles —“

“Oh, Stiles!!”

“—anything because anything he wants to know he can find out from the police reports.”

“Oh Derek, are you really that dumb?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your detective, this Stiles , is going to want to hear all about it from you. He's not going to want the tabloid version or the dry facts of a police report. He's going to want to hear it from you.”

“You don't know that! God, you and Marmee are insane! I've met the guy a grand total of two times and he's only  _just_  coming round to the idea that I'm not mixed up with a murderer. He isn't  _my_  detective and just because I displayed a vague interest in him doesn't mean I want him to  **be**  my detective. Is that clear enough?”

“Wow, Egypt is looking mighty fine this time of year—that 'Nile' river you're floating on must be relaxing.”

“Ha, ha. You're not funny and I'm not in denial. Seriously, there's actually no reason for me to even see him again. I gave my statement although how much good it'll do them is anyone's guess, and that's an end to it.”

“I hope so in terms of the visions, but Derek? Any man who can put that colour in your cheeks and rile you up like this after only just meeting him twice? I can't help but hope he hangs around.”

“The thing is, Lydia, they never do. They date the freak because they feel brave, or because it gives them a certain cache amongst the scientific community, but none of them are really interested in me. They don't see me. And when they realise how boring I actually am, they don't hang around. And I for one am tired of picking myself back up after they've let me down. I'd rather just not go there.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes, feeling so very weary. He really just wanted to go home, crawl into bed and hide under his duvet. Suddenly he just felt so low and depressed he almost wanted to cry.

He didn't acknowledge the cool hand that wrapped around his neck but he did turn slightly towards her, a silent cry for something he couldn't even name.

“How about I let Marmee know I'm leaving and we head to your place? Put a movie on that fancy BluRay player in your bedroom and cuddle under the duvet, watch that gigantic screen TV?” He almost moaned at how well she read his thoughts then realised there was a potential obstacle.

“You'd face Marmee for me?”

“Hell, honey, I know more than anyone how intense she can be. And sometimes however much she needs to see us and we need her, we need some space to get our heads on straight first. So how about it?” Lydia's fingers were gently stroking the nape of his neck and it was as if she was soothing invisible hackles—he could feel himself calming down and relaxing. Suddenly, more than anything he wanted what she was offering—family, love and support with understanding and no questions. A night off from his brain.

“Yeah. I say yeah, that would be damn near perfect Lydia.”

“Excellent. Give me five minutes to sort out Marmee and I'll follow you in my car.” She turned to get out of the car, her hand sliding from his neck. He stopped her, grabbing her hand as it slipped down his arm.

“Hey Lyds?”

“What little bro?”

“You know I'm going to make you watch  _Say Anything_ , right?” He named a movie from the 80s starring John Cusack that he had been obsessed with when he was younger, making everyone watch it repeatedly.

“That's cool cos I'm going to make you watch  _Some Kind of Wonderful_ followed by _The Notebook_ , so we're square!” Her laughter faded as she climbed out of the car and headed towards the house but it felt like it enveloped him in warmth as he sat back to wait for her to come back out. It would take way more than five minutes but would be so worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Say Anything_**  starring John Cusack, Ione Skye, John Maloney—about a noble underachiever and a beautiful valedictorian fall in love the summer before she goes off to college.
> 
> _**Some Kind of Wonderful**_  starring Eric Stoltz, Mary Stuart Masterson and Lea Thompson—about a young tomboy, Watts, finds her feelings for her best friend, Keith, run deeper than just friendship when he gets a date with the most popular girl in school. Unfortunately, the girl's old boyfriend, who is from the rich section of town, is unable to let go of her and plans to get back at Keith.
> 
> Do I need to tell you about the Notebook?!


	13. Bros Talk

Since he couldn't reach his own ass to kick it, there was nothing left for Stiles to do but call McCall. Although it was Sunday his partner should be available and putting their heads together might make the week start off better.

The phone rang for a long time and he was beginning to think that Scott wasn't home when it was finally picked up.

“McCall.”

“Hey, you busy?” In the background, he could hear a voice and it occurred to him that McCall might actually have someone staying over. “Who's that with you?”

“Hey buddy, how you doing?”

“Classic avoidance answering a question with a question.”

“Fuck you.” He heard a smothered laugh from the other end of the line, the sound triggering something in this memory. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite grab onto it but he would, sooner or later. “What are you doing? How did it go running down the alibi?” Rustling sounds and Scott 's voice came through a little clearer, making Stiles think his partner must have sat up.

“Yeah, I spoke to the woman Derek mentioned and she corroborates everything he said. He might be involved somehow but he didn't commit the actual murder.”

“Come on, Stiles , you still think he had anything to do with it?” Scott sounded exasperated and Stiles had to admit if only to himself that he was clinging too tightly to the idea that Derek was involved. There was absolutely nothing tying Derek to the murder apart from his “vision” and the testimonials they had received from so many people made even that link make sense.

“No – I don't think I do. But I do want to speak to Deaton first thing tomorrow. I want to know exactly what happened six years ago so I don't put my foot in it again.”

“What do you mean? Stiles , what did you do?” More rustling. “Get your ass over here will ya? It's easier to read the non-verbal clues when you're standing in front of me.”

“Sure I won't disturb whoever's making breakfast?”

“She's not making – you know what, fuck you! You coming?”

“Yeah I'll be there in about 20 minutes.”

“You're not at your place then.” With a grunt, Stiles hung up without answering and walked over to his truck. Face to face with McCall would be easier and if he got lucky with traffic he could be there in ten minutes and find out who the mystery woman was. With one last look at Derek's house, Stiles drove away and made good time to McCall's house.

It was a nice little house – two bedrooms, open plan, Moroccan décor that was relaxing and so not your typical detectives. If he hadn't known that Scott inherited a chunk of change from his Grandfather's estate he'd have been investigating his lifestyle for sure. Instead, he made the most of the fancy microbrews McCall could afford to buy and made sure to take the piss out of his designer wardrobe at every opportunity. They had been friends and partners for so long he couldn't think of the last big life event that either of them had been through without each other. There wasn't anyone else he trusted the way he did Scott , and there sure as hell wasn't anyone else on God's green earth that knew Stiles the way that Scott did. It made sense to see if Scott could help him unravel the mess his brain was tangled in.

“How many red lights did you run?” Scott was sat at his front doorstep, sipping at a cup of coffee. He was dressed in jeans but unlike Stiles 's they looked like they had been pressed and had a crease down the leg. His tee-shirt was a pale cream colour in what looked like silk, and his hair was neatly combed although he hadn't put any product in.

“A fair few. Did I miss her?” It was obvious based on how relaxed Scott was that whoever the mystery woman was she had already left.

“Yeah, sorry. She would have hung around to say hello but she had somewhere else to be.”

“On a Sunday? Busy, busy. Will I get the chance to meet her?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Scott looked a little confused and Stiles realised that this wasn't some random hook up. More and more intriguing.

“Her decision or yours?”

“So where were you when you called? You weren't at your place – you wouldn't have been able to get here that fast.”

“I was at Derek's place.” The shoe was on the other foot and he squirmed in place. Tapping his keys against his leg, he realised Scott was watching every sign of distress or discomfort. He forced himself to stop, shoving the truck keys into his pocket before stepping forward. “You gonna let me in? It looks like I gotta make my own coffee since you can't show the manners to get me one yourself.” Shoving Scott sideways, he stepped over him and headed directly to the kitchen, knowing his partner was following him. Grabbing a mug, he poured out the black brew, adding cream and sugar in liberal quantities. He turned back to Scott , hips pressed against the counter as he took his first sip. “So, you not gonna tell me who she is?”

“Hell no. You don't need to know anything about her.”

“So is it someone I know?”

“What did you do to Derek?”

“What makes you think I did anything?”

“You said you didn't want to put your foot in it again.”

“Yeah, that. I made a comment that turned out to be kinda insensitive. I wanna check a few things out with Deaton.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“What? No, I didn't kiss him.”

“What, he turn you down?”

“Don't be a dick all your life.”

“Guess I can safely leave that to you. What did the witness say?”

“She backed up everything Derek said – said he was in some sorta torpor for at least an hour until she took him a coffee. He was like seven blocks away from the Castle's house so there was no way it was him. And you're right, I really don't think he's involved. It's just hard to swallow the whole psychic thing – kinda makes me feel queasy. What if you're right and he can read  **our**  minds?”

“Not a lot to read in yours – not that isn't x-rated anyway.” He ignored Scott 's sarcasm and the smirk, frowning as he tried to get what he was thinking out of his head.

“No, I mean seriously. Even if you're with someone there's stuff that you keep in your head right? You don't want someone who can just rummage through it whenever they like. Wouldn't that freak you the fuck out?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But he doesn't seem the type to you know? He looks like he'd – I dunno – respect stuff like that. Everyone who's worked with him says he's a good guy, really cares about the cases he's on, doesn't fuck about with evidence or anything. I would have thought he'd have access to some pretty serious shit and if none of them are saying anything bad about him, it doesn't seem like he'd do something like that. Did you ask him?”

“Ask him what?”

“Ask him if he could read you.”

“No, we didn't really get into a real conversation.” Staring down into his coffee cup, he pursed his lips in thought. “I fucked up man. I don't think he had a real problem with me letting him know I was interested, you know, but I said something about his hair and it – his whole face just closed down and he looked like he hated me.”

“His hair? What did you do, insult him?”

“No. I kinda made a comment about the white blond bits. Turns out he got them on that case from six years ago – looks like some sort of shock thing.”

“Damn. Yeah, I can see how that would be the wrong move. He interested?”

“Yeah, I think he might be. Thing is, I can't quite figure out why I am – he's not my kinda guy you know. I am so not looking for something real – I  **like**  hooking up with random strangers.”

“Who you trying to convince, me or you? And I didn't realise you liked him that much.”

“Yeah, I think I do. Don't ask me why – he comes across as one of those real high maintenance mothers – you just know he'd want to be wined and dined before he puts out. And you should see his house – well, the outside anyway. I could guara-damn-tee you this guy has the neatest house you'd see that isn't yours. He is so not my type.”

“But he is.”

“Yeah, I guess he is. The woman who was here this morning, something similar right?” He looked over at Scott, head tilted to one side as he considered his friend and partner. “You have that deer in the headlights look about you.”

“I didn't think so when things started, but suddenly I'm calling her up midweek and we're dating. I couldn't even tell you how that happened.”

“Man, we are so screwed.”

“Yeah, man, we are.”


	14. A Choice Made

He couldn't figure out who the second car belonged to. Derek's CR-V was in its normal space but squeezed in behind it was a little BMW. An old one, the badge having fallen off the back so he couldn't see what series it was, the number plate slightly obscured by mud. He had no idea why it made him so mad to see it parked there but even he could tell that his knock on the front door was just that little bit too loud.

“Alright, alright, I'm coming.” Stiles stepped back as he heard Derek begin to undo the various chains and bolts on the front door, moving back enough so that Derek would be able to see him clearly through the peep-hole, trying to arrange his face into something a little less thundercloud-like. “Who is it?”

“It's me, Stiles .” His skin gave that peculiar tingle that warned him someone was looking at him and he knew Derek was using the peep-hole.

“Stiles who?”

“Very funny. It's Stiles Stilinski and you know it so open the God-damned door.” It was all too easy to imagine the smirk that would have been on McCall's face if he could have heard that little exchange and Stiles could only be pleased that he had decided to swing by Derek's place on impulse and that his partner was off doing some more background checks on the remaining Castle family members. The sound of a jangling chain, the slam of a bolt before the door opened and Derek was stood in front of him. Stiles took a moment to admire the view. Derek wore a black wife-beater, the lack of sleeves showing the muscle definition in Derek's surprisingly broad shoulders. His baggy clothing had indeed been deceptive as Stiles could quite clearly see that Derek worked out now that he was seeing him in something a little more fitted. The black sleep pants were obviously old, soft and a little baggy around the knees and crotch but they were still tighter than the jeans or trousers Stiles had seen Derek in before. The whole package was lean, tight and very nicely defined and Stiles had to remind himself that he had a question or two to ask before he allowed himself to get distracted.

“Whose is the Beamer?”

“And good morning to you too Detective.”

“It's a perfectly normal, easy question. Who does the Beamer belong to?” Derek's chest rose and fell sharply as he looked up at Stiles and he half prepared himself to be blasted by Derek's temper.

“Would it make any difference if I said it was really none of your business?”

“No. I—” Stiles came to a halt mid-sentence as over Derek's shoulder he saw a woman walk into the living room. She was quite petite in stature with a slender frame; milk-white skin and a mass of strawberry blonde curls cascading around her shoulders and down her back as she pulled on a tracksuit jacket. She wore no make-up but was very pretty nevertheless, intelligent eyes shining in her face as she looked back at him over Derek's shoulder. Stiles couldn't even remember if Derek had ever said he was gay or even bi—his head was full of how at home the woman seemed to be in Derek's house and how much of an idiot he had been to not check whether Derek was seeing someone before making any kind of move on the man.

“Detective? Stiles ?” He realised Derek was trying to regain his attention. “Was there anything else you wanted other than to find out who drives the car in my driveway?”

“Huh? I mean yeah, yes. I—I was—”

“Gimme a kiss, Derek, I gotta make a move.” The woman came up behind Derek, wrapping her arm around his waist and Stiles noticed he gave a slight flinch as she touched him. She looked quite comfortable and completely unashamed to be standing in the doorway wearing a man's tee-shirt and tracksuit jacket over tight black leggings. “Hello, and who might you be?”

“Bye Lyds, thanks for last night.” Derek turned his head and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and Stiles could feel a tic start in his jaw. If someone didn't explain who the hell she was soon, he wasn't going to be able to hold onto his temper. And since Derek was being stubborn, it looked like Stiles was going to have to find out for himself who this 'Lyds' was.

“I'm Detective Stiles Stilinski and you are?”

“She's leaving so it really is none of your business who she is.”

“I'm Lydia Hale. So you're Derek's detective?”

_”He's not my detective!”_  It took Stiles a few moments to put the pieces together, the ends not quite meeting in his head until he made a few mental adjustments.

“You're his sister, Lydia Hale.”

“That's me.” She looked him up and down, being blatantly obvious about it as she did so. "So are you?”

_”Can anyone actually hear me?!”_

“Am I what?”

“Are you Derek's detective? Marmee wants as many details as I can get about you.”

“ **Lydia!** ”

“Yep, that would be me! I would  _love_  to meet with your Marmee—I'm sure she could tell me a lot about Derek.”

“Oh no doubt, Detective, no doubt.”

“Please, call me Stiles .”

_”Have I completely disappeared? Can no one hear my voice at all?!”_  Derek was sounding more and more outraged but Stiles was concentrating on Lydia. She rummaged in the pocket of the tracksuit jacket and yanked out a small wallet. With a smooth, practised gesture she pulled out a business card and handed it to Stiles, neatly avoiding Derek's grasping fingers.

“Call me and we'll set something up.”

“Excellent.” He too managed to avoid Derek's attempt to grab the card, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Thank you.”

“Lyds, isn't it time you were leaving?”

“Didn't I just say I gotta make a move? Get out of my way honey! We'll catch up during the week okay?” Lydia slid past Derek with a gentle pat on his cheek, gave Stiles one more assessing look then walked towards the little silver car, hips swaying gently as her flip flops made a slap-slap sound on the ground. They both watched as she climbed into the car and with the minimum of fuss started the engine, fixed her seat and mirrors, then reversed smoothly off the driveway and drove off with a single toot of her horn and a wave of a slender hand out of the driver's side window.

“She's your sister.” He knew that once again he was doing an appalling job of hiding his emotions—he was very, very pleased and he didn't care to hide it.

“Yes, she is—one of several. Although I really don't see how it's any of your business.”

“Well, I did wonder if I'd assumed wrongly when I first saw her in your house.”

“Still not your business.”

“But I'm your detective—according to your sister anyway. And I guess this would make it my business.” Giving in to temptation, Stiles leant forward and cupped Derek's jaw in both hands and slowly lowered his face. He stopped when their lips were almost but not quite touching. Barely. “Unless you really don't want it to be my business?” He knew this was it—there was no way he would force a kiss onto an unwilling partner—so far, he had pushed Derek every step of the way every time he'd seen him but this time he wanted Derek to make the choice. He wanted Derek to make it clear that the attraction was mutual otherwise Stiles was going to walk away before he got sucked in any deeper than he already was. It gave him hope that Derek's family already knew about him—that meant Derek had talked about him, but he needed more. He needed a physical sign from Derek that he wanted this too.

His eyes flicked to meet Derek's, easily reading the uncertainty, the doubt and the fear within their depths. He was stunned by just how much he wanted Derek to say something or make a move—a few millimetres separated their lips and he  _needed_ Derek to close that distance.

A moment passed.

And another.

Feeling defeated Stiles 's hands began to slide from Derek's face, resting momentarily on his neck before Stiles took a deep breath and prepared to step back. As he took another breath, Derek suddenly shifted and cool, plump lips met his.


	15. A Past Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of rape. Does not include the main characters and is not discussed in any detail but I thought I should warn for it nevertheless.

His skin felt too tight for his body and ultra sensitive—it was as though he could feel the air shifting around him. He could feel the close weave of the cotton shirt Stiles was wearing beneath the fingertips of his right hand, the silky soft strands of his hair prickling against the skin of his left hand. He couldn't think of the last time he had felt so very alive. The kiss became bruising in its intensity, Stiles 's hands clutching at his ass through his soft material of his sleep pants. And God, he could feel the steely hardness of Stiles 's cock pressing hard against his stomach, a huge wave of desire sweeping over him. It was complete and utter bliss to just feel what he was feeling, to only know what Stiles wanted by the desire evident in his touch and the strength of his body crushing Derek close. Amazing, blissful, almost perfect and—

“NO!” Hands to his head, Derek wrenched himself away from Stiles 's hold, his mind flooded with a wave of such malevolent hatred that he felt physically sick. As though from a great distance he could hear Stiles calling his name but he was lost in the storm of someone else's emotions and couldn't respond, no matter how much he wanted to. He felt himself slam into a wall, ricocheting off the surface and flailing against what was happening he had absolutely no idea how far away. He was folded into warmth and strength, a steady lub-lub sound in his ear representing something he knew he could cling to. He latched onto it with everything within him, fighting off the black malevolence trying to swallow him whole. He took in a huge sucking breath, feeling the blackness fading away until he could hear again.

“Come back to me, Derek, come on. You're scaring the hell out of me at the moment so if you could please come back—” Slowly, slowly the dark faded away and he could see again, could feel the warmth seeping into his limbs. Blinking, he looked around and realised he was sat on his own sofa, Stiles 's arms wrapped him, big hands rubbing up and down his arm and back. “Hey.” He couldn't think when he had heard Stiles speak in such a deep, gentle tone and he relaxed fully, letting Stiles have his full weight.

“Hey.” His throat felt raw and he realised he had probably been screaming without realising it. He was too tired to blush at the thought although it flitted through his mind to be thankful that his neighbours were probably out and hadn't heard him.

“Nice to have you back. Can I get you anything—a drink, some water?” He shook his head, unwilling to leave Stiles 's arms. He had never had this before—someone to hold him while he came back. By the time his 'powers' had fully grown, Marmee hadn't been able to restrain him safely if he flailed against what he was seeing and it was only after he'd come back to himself that someone had been able to hold him. This was special, this felt bloody marvellous. “Should I ask?”

“You can ask. Not sure I can explain it, though.”

“Do me a favour and try will you? I gotta tell you, this freaked me the hell out and I have no idea whether I should be calling an ambulance or a doctor or what.”

“No, I'm fine. I don't need a doctor. Apparently it can be scarier on the outside looking in, although after that I kinda doubt it.” Stiles leant back on the sofa, pulling Derek with him and Derek was perfectly happy to remain limp and trusting in his arms. It might make him look weak in Stiles 's eyes, but he was going to make the most of this—enjoy this for as long as he could.

“Was it—I mean, what was that? One minute you were with me one hundred percent and—God, don't tell me it was because I kissed you?!” Stiles sounded so horrified that Derek found that for a moment he was comforting Stiles , patting his arm whilst shaking his head.

“No, that was in no way because  _I_  kissed  _you_. That—I think because I can't be positive—was the same person I felt last week. He was—there's only one way to describe this—it was like he was on the hunt.”

“Well, fuck!”

“Yeah, told you it wasn't a lot of fun.”

“When you say he was on the hunt, what do you mean? What did you see? Did you see him—was there—“

“Okay, calm down!! First of all, this time, I didn't  **see**  him, I felt him. It was just this huge wave of hatred—deep, black hatred for whoever he was with or whoever he was thinking about at the time. Which is why I think he was hunting—he was thinking about what he wanted to do to someone. I think he was with someone, his next victim maybe.”

“Hell! You mean he was choosing who he wanted to kill next?”

“Maybe not choosing—it didn't feel like choosing as such. It seemed more like someone made him so angry, so mad that they went on his list or something. God, this sounds stupid—I”

“No, it really doesn't. And hell, after seeing that I gotta say my thoughts are all over the place. How the hell did you cope with this on your own last week? You were completely—”

“Helpless. Yes, I am. Which is how I got into the situation six years ago. I was—it was like I was in Gerard's head, so deep that I couldn't find my way out. And he took advantage of that, took me while I was drowning in his sick, sadistic thoughts.”

“Jesus, Derek, I am so sorry.”

“He was strange, rare. He could actually choose to project his thoughts. They never got a chance to test him otherwise they might have been able to find out if he had the opposite of my 'power'. You know, I'm considered a receiver and we think Gerard was a projector. Once he realised I was helping the police, he decided he wanted me there for his latest kill. He wanted to study how it made me feel. So he watched and he waited until my police escort had gone for the evening and then he started projecting the vilest, revolting things he could—things he wanted to do to me, to his victims. It was like I was drowning—I couldn't see, couldn't fight—I was just this useless lump that he could throw over his shoulder and carry away because I was completely helpless. And he tied me down next to his victim—this sweet, sixteen-year-old girl called Carrie. Big blue eyes, blonde hair, such an innocent. And he raped and stabbed her, the whole time shoving what he was feeling into  **me**  so that I felt all of it—I was connected to him while he did all of it and I couldn't stop him, couldn't pull away. And I was still part of what was in his head when the police broke in and shot him.” Strangely, it was easy to tell Stiles the whole thing. It was like it had happened to someone else—for the first time, he was able to step back and tell the story like it hadn't happened to him. Stiles's arms were around him and those huge hands never once stopped stroking and rubbing his arm, shoulders and back as it spewed out of him. “I had his blood and brains all over me—in my hair, on my face. But I didn't feel any of that because for a while I died. When they shot him, I just—died.”

“Jesus H Christ.”

“They brought me back—it took months apparently. I knew nothing—I was just in a void. It was really peaceful actually. Marmee was there every single day, talking to me, telling me what my family were up to, that they all needed me back. And one day, I opened my eyes and I asked her if she would make me macaroni cheese for dinner. Just like that apparently. She told me afterwards—when the doctors had been in and done all of their tests and everything—she wanted to slap me so hard for scaring her so much. She thought she had lost me and she would never have forgiven herself because she always encouraged me to help the police you see. I stayed with her for a while, then moved back into the institute with Dr Deaton because my head wasn't right, wasn't working the way it should. We thought I'd lost it—that when I died, the power just went. And for the first time in my entire life, I could just be normal. And then last week, this evil, sadistic bastard somehow appeared on my frequency and it's all back. I have no idea if I'm back up to 'full speed' or if things have changed. I can see things again—things I took for granted before like seeing members of my family just by thinking of them or picking up impressions from some people when they are feeling things particularly deeply. You I can't see. It's refreshing actually—when you're grabbing me, holding me, all I can feel is what you make me feel—I can't feel  _you_  at all.” He looked up into Stiles's face, a grin making his cheeks ache as he took in his expression. “Was that one of the things that was bothering you? The thought that I could 'read' you?” He didn't need Stiles 's nod to confirm it at all. “No, Detective Stilinski, it would appear your head is too thick for my talent to penetrate—that or you're what we call a null.”

“A null?”

“Yep. A big juicy blank. Dr Deaton would probably love to have you to help with his studies—a null would make an excellent blind study.”

“I'm not offering my head up to any of your weirdo Doctors.”

“That's all you have to say? Nothing about Gerard, about what I told you?”

“Only that I'm truly sorry you went through something like that. But that I'm kinda glad you did.” Derek couldn't help stiffening in Stiles 's embrace at those words, shocked and horrified. “No, I don't mean in some sick, twisted way. I mean, if that hadn't happened, you'd never have been here—you moved here after it all and somehow I don't think you would have otherwise. Your family seem to be very close but very protective of you. I would guess that can be a little suffocating.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you're a prickly bastard sometimes, and I kinda picked up from your sister that you don't always turn to the people that you should.”

“Point taken Detective. Very well deduced.”

“So now what? I mean, it looks like you're not tuned in to this guy at the moment—obviously he doesn't project all the time.”

“No, it seems as though it only happens when he's feeling particularly strong emotions like hatred, things like that.”

“But it seems fair enough to think that maybe this guy is looking for someone, another victim.”

“But there's nothing I can do about that—I can't pick him up any other time, can't help you catch him.”

“That's not on you, Derek, so don't try to take it on board. Look, you've given us more than you can imagine. And if this guy is looking for another victim, we have a heads up he's not expecting—we'll know if he does it again and can look for them.”

“But somebody's going to die because I—”

“No, not because of you. Because of him.” Dropping his head onto Stiles 's chest, Derek let go and accepted his comfort, knowing that more than likely by the end of the week, he was going to have to go through that awful drowning feeling again. But this time, he had the feeling he wouldn't be all alone.


	16. Introspection & an Unexpected Crime Scene

Stiles had pretty much decided that Derek had to be the most stubborn bastard he had ever had the (mis)fortune to meet. He'd tried to convince the other man to stay home and recover, maybe go and visit his Marmee—his persuasions included a few more of those mind-blowing, drugging kisses they had begun sharing. All he had got for his 'trouble' was an erection that felt like it was likely to explode at the slightest breeze and a headache from Derek's very effective arguments against each of his suggestions. He  _had_ managed to convince Derek to let him take him to dinner later that evening and had to be satisfied with that. And it was enough to put a spring in his step as he made his way into work. He should have known Mondays didn't start that well. Ever.

“We got a nasty one.”

“What? The same guy or—”

“Sorry, partner, not what I meant. Although the address should be familiar to you.” Stiles followed Scott out to his car and sat in contemplative silence as his partner drove efficiently to the address given by dispatch. He was a little disconcerted by how he felt, to be frank. Holding Derek, kissing and being kissed by Derek had been about as passionate as his sex life had ever got but that wasn't what was in his head. What was in his head was how much he had enjoyed just  _holding_  Derek, feeling his body in his arms, the weight of his head against Stiles 's chest as he lay there so trustingly. Maybe that was it—Derek wasn't the type to trust easily but he most definitely trusted Stiles. It was a heady feeling. It was even headier that it was important to him. Perhaps it really was time to say goodbye to his bachelor ways—somehow just the thought of having Derek was way better than a night out could ever hope to be.

“You gonna tell me what's put that smile on your face? Last time I saw you, you were dealing with your last dog days of freedom and you weren't particularly happy about it.”

“If I recall, I wasn't the only one possibly mourning the loss of my bachelor days. How was the rest of your Sunday?”

“Swift change of subject there—nice one partner. Okay, I'll show you how a mature person handles a conversation. I had a great Sunday. Al—she came back over and we had dinner, watched a movie, just hung out.”

“There has to be a reason you won't tell me who she is.”

“Well, yeah, but if I told you the reason I might as well tell you who she is.” Which was more revealing than maybe Scott had planned to be. It set Stiles 's brain ticking and he knew he was really close to figuring out just who she was. Really close. In the meantime....

“I saw Derek this morning. And I witnessed something.”

“Witnessed something? Like what? The guy?”

“No, it was sorta like the guy was hunting or maybe scouting out a possibility. Which is why I wondered whether this call was for one of his.”

“What was it like?” Which got to the meat of the whole issue didn't it?—he had  _seen_  Derek going through it, had seen it for himself and it wasn't just theoretical anymore.

“It was scary as fuck. I mean, he was completely out of it, just gone, like he was literally in this other guy's head. And he told me what happened six years ago.”

“He did? Sounds pretty heavy. What—can I ask what happened?”

“You can ask but I'm not telling. There's bound to be a report anyway—you'll have to settle for that. I don't think he talks about it with many people and I would feel like I was betraying his trust if I told you.” Stiles felt really discomfited—he didn't keep secrets from Scott, it just didn't feel right. But he was telling the truth—he wouldn't feel right sharing what Derek had told him with Scott without Derek's permission. Whatever was going on, it looked like his head and heart was in agreement—Derek was important.

“Wow. Okay, I can accept that—actually, I can admire that. Just—anything that would be pertinent to the case—”

“Hell, if it was something to do with the case I would tell you—that goes without saying.”

“Cool.” They both nodded and Stiles felt better—Scott knew exactly where he was coming from and didn't seem to have any issues with it. Yeah, his partner had his back yet again. Scott pulled over to the kerb and Stiles looked around, frowning.

“Why are we back here?” Climbing out of the car, Stiles strode up the familiar pathway, noting the changes in the scene—there were bits of discarded police tape fluttering around plants and bits and pieces, and he could see the sticky tape marks where the crime scene tape had been put across the door. He didn't tend to return to crime scenes so it was a little strange seeing the debris like this. He was about to knock when the door was opened by a uniformed officer who stepped back and let him in. He turned to Scott, really curious now.

“We got the call—looks like Castle couldn't take it.”

“What?” Castle hadn't seemed the type but he had been wrong before. Although it would make this morning with Derek a little confusing. The walls in the hallway were smeared and grimy, and he wondered who they would get in to clean it up—there were specialist firms out there and it would make it a little less gruesome being in the place. Mind you, maybe SOCO was still doing some work here.

“He killed himself. The funeral director was trying to contact him, spoke to a relative who came round. He hung himself in the kitchen where his wife was found.” Stiles came to a standstill, completely thrown by McCall's statement. He had thought Castle was a little lost, but _suicide?_

“Definitely suicide?”

“Looks like. I mean, they asked for us since it's connected to the wife and all, but it doesn't look like a homicide.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“The press is gonna have a field day—you know they're going to assume he killed his wife, couldn't take the guilt and killed himself?” Catching Scott 's eyes, Stiles wondered if his partner was thinking along the same lines as himself.

“Yeah, and who's to say they're wrong? I mean, it's a consideration. The only thing making it look like it isn't a murder/suicide is—”

“Derek.”

“Yep.”

“Scott —I—”

“I'm just saying. Parrish's already asked me to put together a summary of everything, see if it's possible.”

“But that would mean—I really don't think Derek was making that stuff up.”

“Look, Stiles, I don't think so either. But the facts are there—Castle's wife is murdered, brutally, with a passion that is normally reserved for partners and exes. Days later, Castle kills himself. All it needs is a pretty bow.”

“Yeah, I take your point. I just don't think that's the case.” He really hoped he and Scott were on the same page here.

“Neither do I. But until were hear from the guy again or Derek 'senses' him again, we got nothing else.”

“Yeah. And in the meantime, this guy has managed to kill two people with one murder. Fuckin' asshole.”

“Amen to that.” Nodding, Stiles headed towards the kitchen, preparing himself as best he could for what the room would look like. It was good that he and McCall were on the same page—professionally and personally. And if only because of what he had seen Derek go through that morning, he wanted to take that bastard down in the worst way. They just needed him to strike again. And didn't that just fuck up your viewpoint entirely when a police officer was  _wanting_  someone to strike again? With a deep sigh, Stiles realised it was going to be yet another long day and to piss him off even more, he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make his date with Derek that night. If he even made it at all this Goddamn week.

Well, fuck.


	17. Tensions Rising...

It was really the only thing that stood a chance of soothing him at the moment. He felt like a pretzel, he was so tense and twisted up and it was the wrong day for hunting or the chase. The failed volunteer the other morning was the closest he got in some time and it was making him—itchy.

So, here he was, in a vehicle that he had 'borrowed' driving literally in the dark. Eyes closed, lights off, ignoring the angry horn blasts from the variety of vehicles that came upon him unexpectedly—he felt invisible to everyone. He liked invisibility, he liked the serenity, the purity of it. 

And it had always proven safer if his mother didn't see him.

Much like his previous volunteers. They didn't see him as a person—he was Invisible, someone they talked and raged at, complained to and about, expecting him to make things right. The volunteers were the ones who crossed the line, who saw him but still treated him like an invisible thing. As an unfeeling victim for their vitriol. Like her....

He drove a little faster, needing the speed, enjoying the feel of the wind caressing his shaven scalp. He couldn't do this for long—law enforcement might be scarce in the area he chose to do his silent driving but they  _were_  around. And the very last thing he wanted to try to explain was the pure state of his body. Somehow, he didn't think they would understand. 

The doctors didn't understand. He remembered the first time he'd been forced to see a doctor—remembered the horror and confusion she had been unable to hide. 

Huh. 

Strange to think she had been the first all of those years ago. It had been the sensible thing to do—remove the records she had completed so conscientiously. Remove the person who knew things that should not be shared. He shook his head, aware that he was falling deeper and deeper into the dark with his reminiscing which defeated the object of the exercise.

Regretfully he pulled over, not wanting to risk what might happen if he suddenly put his lights on behind the car he was trailing. He let a few other vehicles pass him by before turning on his headlamps and rejoining the traffic. He felt calmer, much less tense. And there was always the possibility of a volunteer tomorrow.

Maybe he would make his criteria a little less _stringent_ this time.....


	18. A Old New Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - had some problems with my hard drive. Over 2.5k words to make up for it though!

“You’re looking nice—I mean, really good.” Derek turned back from seeing his customer out of the store, surprised to see John Bailey. He hadn’t seen the other man come in—obviously he’d been busy dealing with his customer. John often attended the video nights and occasionally made clumsy attempts at flirting but he rarely came into the shop during the week.

“Hi, John and thank you. How are you?” Derek picked up his copy of the sales receipt so that he could make a note of the book details—it was a steady seller so he needed to make sure he replaced it in his stock.

“I’m fine—yeah, erm, good actually thanks.” Derek looked up at John and smiled absent-mindedly.

“Can I help you with anything?” As soon as he said it, Derek wanted to take back his words. John was shifting nervously from side to side, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his jacket. He had a shy smile on his face, his cheeks were flushed and he wasn’t meeting Derek’s gaze. He seemed to be building himself up to saying something and Derek had a really, really bad idea that he knew what it was. Up until now, avoiding John’s flirtatious invitations had been relatively easy, mainly because John didn’t register on Derek’s radar and he missed most of them. But an out and out request for a date would be much more difficult to slide out from under and Derek was dreading it.

“Well, I just—there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you but I wasn’t sure. And, you know, if I was wrong it would be kinda embarrassing.”

“Look, John—”

“But then I saw you through the shop window and I thought oh hell, why not so here I am so I’m just going to ask. Derek, are you—”

“John—” Derek tried valiantly to interrupt but the normally mild-mannered man was obviously determined to get out what he wanted to say.

“—that psychic from about five years ago? I followed you, or rather him, in the news but then you disappeared and I thought maybe you’d left the country or something? And there weren’t many photos of him but when I looked in just now with your hair styled that way and the tighter clothes you’re like the spitting image of him!”

“What—?!” Completely stunned, Derek couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I mean, you were a celebrity but you never had cause to come here because we didn’t really have any of those types of cases probably but then you turned up here not too long after he disappeared and—”

“John, STOP!” Derek’s shout reverberated around the entrance-way of the store and he was relieved there were no other customers there. It also finally brought John’s stammering speech to a halt. “What the hell John?”

“Are you going to say you’re not him? Because I’m pretty sure you are. I don’t want to bother you or anything. I kinda got the feeling something went wrong on the last case—you know, the one with those blonde girls?— and I don’t want to upset you but you really do look like him. Especially today. I mean, you look nice normally but you can be a bit scowly and you look older or something. But I was watching you from outside and today you look so much younger—you know, it’s the clothes and the hairstyle like I said. I’m sorry, have I upset you?”

What could he say? He wanted to blame it all on Stiles. Stiles, who had called to apologise for breaking their date but said he might pop in during the course of the week. That had somehow led to a change in Derek’s daily wardrobe and instead of his normal baggy jeans and huge sweatshirt, he was wearing clothes that probably  _were_  from six years ago, The jeans were fitted and almost too tight, a dark vintage denim that made his legs look longer. He was wearing an old band T-shirt in black, red and white with a black hoody over the top. He’d actually used product to style his hair and it stood up almost in a faux-hawk, the streak of white blond accentuated instead of hidden. He’d wanted to pretend he wasn’t dressing to attract Stiles but when he’d pulled on his battered biker boots for some extra height and a bit of swagger, he’d given up all pretence. He wanted Stiles to come by the store today and he wanted to see the way those beautiful eyes lit up with humour and appreciation. In such a short space of time, he realised he had become quietly addicted to the idea that someone _saw_ him in a way no one had before—made him reconsider how he saw himself. It was quick but it felt solid—when it was right, it was right. But in the meantime, John was going to be a pain in the ass which meant he was paying for wanting to look attractive to Stiles.

He was paying for it in spades.

“No, you haven’t upset me. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to recognise me after all of this time.”

“Holy shit, it  **is**  you?” For a minute, he actually thought John was going to bounce up and down and clap his hands together like a giddy schoolgirl. “Oh my God, this is amazing!”

“I don’t know about amazing and look, I don’t particularly want—”

“Why did you stop? Or are you still doing it but like undercover? How come you’re here? Is the bookstore a front? Do you give readings—I mean, how does it work? This is just absolutely mind-blowing!”

“Calm down John, please. Look, I don’t really want the world and his dog knowing I’m here so—”

“So you want me to keep it a secret?” Derek was stunned to see a look of cunning move across John’s face. It was discomfiting to watch the man go from almost innocent delight to plotting. “Maybe if you came out to dinner with me, we could talk about that?”

“Hmm, if I didn’t know better I’d say you think you can blackmail me. Sorry John, it doesn’t matter to me that much.” Derek was so angry he was grinding his teeth but he refused to give in to John’s manipulations. It was a smarmy, underhanded way to act and any feelings of vague friendliness he had been experiencing for John completely disappeared. He had never hidden who he was before going through the war of his past experiences and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. He might prefer to remain anonymous but he wasn’t going to be blackmailed with his own identity.

“Hey, look, I didn’t mean it like that. I just, I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages and never had the nerve and—”

“I think you’d better go.” Derek realised he was picking up some very strong vibes from John—there was lust definitely, but there was also a prurient curiosity, a sense of daring in wanting to go out with a psychic. John was just like those people in his past and Derek was determined to keep them right there—in his past.

“Derek, I—”

“I don’t think you should come to any more of the video evenings.”

“Now hold on, all I wanted—”

“I know exactly what you wanted but you’re never going to get it from me so please leave.” Derek was surprised by the wave of anger he sensed coming from John—it felt so out of proportion to the situation. But then he’d never really met any of his ‘fans’ in the past—it was obviously an extremely big deal to John.

“You can’t stop me attending—”

“Management reserve the right to refuse service. I’m merely exercising that right.”

“And if that doesn’t deter you, I have a nice police badge in my pocket that should do it. Wanna see?”

John went noticeably paler when he took in Stiles ’s imposing and vaguely threatening stance and Derek wondered just how long Stiles had been there and how he’d got into the store without either of them noticing his arrival. John seemed to recognise that he had lost—he deflated, once more transforming into the meek-mannered man that Derek recognised.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll go.” John shuffled around Stiles nervously, shooting hurried glances at the detective as he finally wrenched the door open and left.

“I was handling it.” Derek bristled slightly, not wanting Stiles to think he had to keep coming to his rescue.

“I know—don’t use the eyebrows of doom on me.” Stiles moved until he was behind the checkout desk, effectively blocking Derek’s exit. “I just didn’t want to have to wait any longer for a better look.”

“A look at what?” Even while he was asking, Derek knew exactly what Stiles wanted a good look at. It was obvious from Stiles ’s facial expression that he liked how Derek was dressed—he didn’t need to be psychic to pick up on the desire Stiles was making plain to see.

“Those aren’t new—I was at that concert.” Gesturing towards the band T-shirt, Stiles stepped closer. Derek gave a shiver, vaguely aware that he was leaning towards Stiles but uninterested in stopping.

“Yeah? Didn’t really see you as a fan.”

“Shows what you know—I’ve got my echelon tattoo. And let’s be honest, the Leto brothers are hot as fuck.” Derek’s brows rose at Stiles comment, a slight tilt to the corner of his mouth proof of his amusement. But the subject at hand was tattoos.

“Where is it? Or they?” A tilt of Stiles’ head before he realised what Derek was asking.

“You’ll have to find out for yourself. I’m a police officer, no obvious tattoos allowed.” Derek gulped, his brain instantly going to the various private places Stiles could have a band tattoo.

“What did you get?” His voice was thick and he realised Stiles had taken yet another small step closer.

“Lyrics. What about you?” Stiles’ voice was lower than normal and Derek realised that Stiles’ hand was hovering over his arm. One more step and the warmth of that hand landed, stroking his arm through the heaviness of the fleece.

“What about me what?” Were they really going to hold a conversation?

“Any echelon tattoos?” Derek turned into Stiles ’s embrace, shifting the hair at the base of his neck so that the line of small glyphs that ran down his nape were visible. “Nice.” Stiles ’s chest was pressed against his back, the warmth of his breath stirring the tiny hairs on his nape as he leant forward to see them clearly. Derek shivered, not sure if it had been a finger delicately tracing the four glyphs or God help him, Stiles’ tongue. “Did it hurt a lot?”

“Huh?”

“Getting it done on the back of your neck. Did it hurt?” Warm breath blowing across his nape, drying the skin which meant that it  _had_  been Stiles’ tongue.

“A bit. A good hurt, though.” He wasn’t imagining the small groan Stiles gave at hearing Derek’s reaction to the pain of a tattoo. And the hardness nudging at him was a giveaway. Maybe it was cruel of him but Stiles had bailed on their date on Monday—he deserved to suffer a little. “It’s not my only tattoo. I have a sort of family crest on my back. Didn’t hurt as much as the neck ones but sometimes a bit of pain can be a good thing. Don’t you think?”

Hands on his shoulders, squeezing briefly before travelling down his arms then strong fingers were entwining with his. Stiles took one more half step forward, completely trapping Derek within his arms. The moist touch of Stiles ’s tongue tracing his tattoo made his knees feel decidedly weak, the solid prod against his back promising a sweet pain all of its own.

“Yeah, I definitely think. Sorry about Monday night, it was unavoidable. And Tuesday, I swear, I want to see you, spend some time with you. But—”

“Tonight? Whatever time?” Stiles' swiftly indrawn breath was gratifying and instead of feeling vulnerable with his open-ended offer, Derek felt strong. Why should he hide what he wanted when Stiles was making it more than plain that he wanted it too?

“Fuck, yes.” Lips grazed his hair, pressing firmly, and then Stiles stepped back, reluctantly releasing Derek’s hands. Derek turned, enjoying the view of his detective’s swollen lips, the desire burning in his gaze and the obvious proof of his desire tenting his trousers. The jangle of the bell over the door didn’t catch him by surprise, although it made Stiles jump slightly.

“You better get back to work Detective—your partner’s come to check up on you.” Derek smiled shyly at Stiles’ partner, McCall, pleased to see no hint of censure or criticism on the other man’s face. It would appear that his detective was out and proud, at least with his partner. “Good afternoon Detective McCall.”

“Hey. Might as well make it Scott —I get the feeling we’re going to see a lot of each other.” Detective—Scott’s smile was crooked and mischievous and Derek didn’t stop himself from smiling back. It felt good to be so easily accepted.

“Nice to meet you again Scott. Perhaps you could take your partner away—I have work to do and he is rather distracting.”

“Fair play, I think you’ve been distracting him quite a bit too.” Stiles stalked out from behind the cash desk, yanking his shirt out of his trouser in such an obvious attempt to hide his arousal that it made Derek’s smile even broader. Stiles frowned at both of them.

“Don’t start thinking you can gang up on me!”

“Now why would we think that?”

“Hmm, reminds me of a conversation I tried to have with you and my sister.”

“Yeah, right, okay. Out you, I told you I’d only be a few minutes.” Shoving Scott towards the door, Stiles turned back to Derek. “Later.” There was a sensual promise in that one word that only days before Derek would have found threatening. Now he merely found it arousing.

“Later.” He nodded his agreement, grinning as Stiles stumbled slightly upon leaving the store. He ran his fingers over his tattoo, enjoying the frisson of sensation it sent down his body. His day had started out a bit boring, then got awful. Now it looked like it was going to end on a very, very high note.

Later.


	19. Later...

Derek expected the day to go slowly once Stiles had left. Like waiting for Christmas or his birthday, every hour feeling like a day in itself; every clock practically running backwards in pure spite. But it wasn’t like that at all. And it wasn’t a jinxed day either—no completely insane computer glitches or Japanese tourists who only spoke Japanese needing directions to the hardest to find places. It was just a day like any other day. He didn’t even get any bad vibes off creepy killer dude which he was especially grateful for. When you were on a promise, second-hand imagery of a brutal struggle and stabbing did very little to put you in the mood.

The Honda had a bit of trouble starting up once he’d locked up for the day but even that wasn’t too far out of the norm. A whispered prayer, a slapping ritual that had no basis in mechanical fact but that always seemed to convince the car to start one more time, and he was on his way. Even knowing how vaguely embarrassing his one stop before he got home could potentially be couldn’t take the smile from his face.

Pulling up at one of the larger branch pharmacies a little out of the way, Derek gave himself a little pep talk then walked into the building. This wasn’t going to be like when he was a teenager buying condoms and lube, walking up and down different aisles trying to get up the courage to actually grab the items in questions. And he refused to go red just because he was in the health section looking at enemas. He wasn’t going to be the first person to buy all three of those items together and he wasn’t going to be the last. Although he might be one of the few who had had the privilege of  _hearing_  what the cashier thought of his purchases and that had been an eye-opener! As Marmee would say, if you couldn’t say it, you shouldn’t do it and you sure as hell shouldn’t be shopping in preparation for it. Somehow, thinking of the Marmee and the safe sex talk she had given him when he turned fifteen and had the obvious hots for the paper delivery boy made him chuckle, and took him through making his choices and going through his self-service kiosk. It was almost a disappointment  _not_  to go through one of the normal cashiers and face someone. Dumping the little bag onto the passenger seat and going through his car starting ritual made Derek realise that he was really doing this. Inviting Stiles around instead of arranging to go out; stopping off at a pharmacy—he was methodically getting himself ready to take a man into his bed, something he hadn’t done in years. And he wasn’t scared or concerned—no last minute jitters or cold feet—he was cool, calm and collected. With a small smile, he made a mental note to send Dr Deaton some flowers—it looked like he might be right yet again.

* * *

Stiles’ day was a huge, steaming pile of shit. First, he had to deal with McCall’s faux sympathetic suggestions on how to get rid of his Derek-induced boner. He didn’t regret stopping off to see Derek—hell no, especially after that view of him in tighter jeans, with his silky dark hair arranged in a faux-hawk. Derek had looked sexy as hell. Add that to getting to taste his skin and Stiles was pretty sure the imprint of his zipper was indelibly marked on his dick. But if Scott suggested anything more after his ice cubes down the pants or a punch in the nuts ideas, Stiles was going to punch  _him_.

Then they discovered that the file on Phillip Castle had gone walkabout and there were discrepancies in the chain of evidence. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Castle’s alibi was corroborated by four different people and it was obvious that he couldn’t have killed his wife. Jonathan, the medical examiner, finally sent his report and it said something about the use of a blunt instrument which seemed to confuse the whole rape idea and perhaps explained the lack of DNA evidence but made Stiles feel squicky just thinking about it. Then the data department dropped off a list of seven—count ‘em—seven crimes that at least superficially matched the Castle murder and suddenly everyone was jumping onto the serial killer angle. Stiles had a few ideas as to why Derek wouldn’t have ‘felt’ the previous crimes if they were the same guy because they followed a trail from two different cities—maybe the guy had been out of Derek’s range. They were narrowing their list to men who had moved into the area over the last six months although both Stiles and Scott were arguing that the guy could have gone out of town to do his business. The Captain was giving him funny looks which made him feel all squirmy because, yeah, maybe he should let him know that he was ‘seeing’ their prime witness but since he hadn’t even taken Derek on a date yet that felt kinda premature. And all the time what was running through his head was the promise of later.

Later.

Derek wasn’t inviting him round for a game of cards. That invitation was a solid gold promise of what he figured was going to be some grade ‘A’ hot sex. Hot and dirty, with possibly scratches and bites. He couldn’t think of the last time sex hadn’t been anything other than basically satisfactory but somehow he just knew he and Derek would burn up the sheets together. And just like that, he was back to squirming in his seat and trying to think about kissing his Aunt Lucinda who was seventy-four and had a moustache, desperately trying to ignore the snickers coming from his partner without resorting to violence.

* * *

Showered and clean inside and out, Derek curled up in one of the giant comfy chairs in his living room, sipping a cup of tea. It was relatively early—he had no idea what constituted normal hours for Stiles —and he was feeling quite relaxed. His skin was buzzing and there was a simmer of anticipation in his stomach but it was all rather pleasant—he couldn’t ever remember anticipating a date so calmly. Or rather, not a date—anticipating  **sex**  so calmly. It was surreal and pleasant and all rather new.

The phone rang and interrupted his peace but it was a cold caller asking if he wanted to purchase insurance and that was quickly dealt with. He played around on Tumblr and Twitter on his tablet for a while, enjoying the bizarre images and gifs people chose to share and generally chilled out. There wasn’t even a hint of concern that crazy killer guy might interrupt—where this whole Zen thing was coming from was beyond him but he wasn’t going to argue with it. He had learned from Dr Deaton that you had to enjoy life as it came—you couldn’t change your history and the future was anyone’s guess. The here and now was all you had and you had to make the most of it.

A fitting thought to cross his mind as he heard a car pulling to a stop outside his house, the rumble vaguely familiar. He got up from his chair, leaving his cup of tea on the side table as he walked over to the front window. It was twilight, the sun disappearing behind the trees and he watched with silent pleasure as Stiles pulled his car onto the driveway and came to a stop. Minutes passed as Stiles fussed about doing whatever his final car rituals were, then he was stepping out of the car, leaning back in to grab what looked like a garment bag and a bathroom kit. As he stepped towards the house, Derek could see that he looked tired—it looked like maybe Stiles had had the shit day that Derek had been expecting. They would have to see if they could do something to make him smile like he had earlier. He dithered momentarily trying to decide whether he should wait for Stiles to knock on the door before opening it—would he look too eager if he opened it before Stiles even reached the doorstep?—but that all became irrelevant because Stiles was on the doorstep and Derek had moved and opened the door without thinking. He backed up as Stiles came in, approving of the way Stiles almost automatically turned and closed the door and locked it securely before facing Derek again. The look on Stiles ’s face was almost predatory—shit day he might have had, but there was definitely no sign of a lack of interest. In fact, he would go so far as to say Stiles was suddenly looking a lot less tired than he had upon exiting the car.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” He wanted to kick himself as soon as he heard the words leave his mouth. Why the hell would Stiles want a cup of tea? Although maybe he should offer him something to eat? He didn’t know if Stiles had had time for food between leaving work and arriving here and it would be rude not to offer him something, right? He couldn’t think of a single thing he had to offer Stiles to eat, though—he couldn’t even remember what he himself had eaten and it hadn’t been that long ago. Oh God, did he have  **any**  food in the house?

“No, I’m good thanks.” Stiles casually draped his garment bag over the back of the chair Derek had been sitting in earlier, dropping his wash-bag onto the seat cushions. He ran his hands through the golden brown spikes of hair as though to settle them into place before stepping towards Derek. He reminded Derek of a giant, golden brown cat the way he stalked his way across the room, backing Derek into the wall with a casual ease of movement that was as disarming as it was arousing. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” Up this close, he could see the different shades of golden brown in Stiles ’s eyes and he thought they were beautiful. Of course, his whole face was beautiful in a way—lines and curves coming together to form a pleasing visage, moles dotted in various places.

“I was asking if you were okay. It’s just that you seem to be trying to back through the wall in order to get away from me.” The crooked smile Stiles gave said he might be exaggerating a little, but Derek realised it really was  _just_  a little. Without even thinking about it, he had been backing slowly away from Stiles until his back was against the wall and Stiles had come to a halt right in front of him. Close enough for their chests to touch if they took a deep breath in. Close enough that he could feel Stiles ’s exhale against his cheek as a gust of air; he could see that Stiles had shaved before he came because his cheeks were smoother than they had been that morning; close enough that a quick look down showed that tired or not, Stiles was very pleased to see him and it was obvious even through the dark trousers he was wearing.

“No, not trying to get away. Just—acclimatising?” It came out half questioningly and Derek looked into Stiles’ face, wondering how he was taking all of this. Derek didn’t want to tease—hell, he’d been looking forward to this all freaking day—but it seemed like the Zen of earlier had deserted him and suddenly he was feeling nothing but nerves. A whole day’s worth of nerves, all crashing down on him in that one moment. Stiles gave that crooked smile again then leaned forward—slowly, so slowly. Derek had plenty of time to avoid him if he really wanted to but he felt hypnotised, could do nothing but watch as Stiles ’s face moved closer, the fine grain texture of his skin began to blur and then his mouth was on Derek’s and all of his nerves melted away at the first touch of Stiles ’s tongue to his lips.


	20. Chapter 20

At last. Two words that had been going through Stiles’ mind from the moment he pulled up outside Derek’s house. Finishing work, driving home for a shower and necessary extras, he’d grabbed his clothes for work the next day and his wash-bag. The drive to Derek’s seemed to take forever with traffic fighting him every step of the way; he’d felt like the world was well and truly against him. He’d been expecting a phone call to tell him that he had to go back to the police precinct—that would have just about completely finished him off. But no, he was pulling in behind Derek’s old CR-V and turning off his engine, dragging his sorry ass out of the car and grabbing his stuff. He couldn’t see Derek at the window but he knew he was there—he could just  _feel_  him there. And it made all of his tiredness drain away. The whole day of hassle and grief disappeared and when the front door opened and Derek was standing there, the only thing on his mind was at last. 

It was an automatic thing to kick the door shut and check that it was locked after which his body followed Derek like a heat-seeking missile as he threw his garment bag and wash-bag over a chair. He could sense how nervous Derek was and tried to restrain his desire to grab him, throw him over his shoulder and run off to the bedroom. He managed to stop himself from doing that but there was nothing he could do about his need to take Derek into his arms and kiss him.

Exactly as he remembered—hot, passionate—the taste of some strange tea lingering on Derek’s tongue; warm soft lips against his own; the feel of Derek in his arms. The dark hair felt soft against his fingers as he used it to tug Derek’s head back, baring his neck to Stiles’ ferocious teeth as he nibbled and bit his way down the warm column. Derek tasted fucking delicious, the gasps he made so beautiful to Stiles’ ears. He’d been vaguely concerned that he was going too fast, that Derek’s nervousness masked a reluctance to go any further, but now he knew that wasn’t the case. Derek tilted his hips, pushing them towards Stiles so that he stepped forward, pressing Derek back until he was resting against the wall and Stiles was plastered against his front. Long, strong arms wrapped around his neck, fingers on his skull tugging him closer. Derek wanted this as much as he did—nerves or no nerves, Derek wanted to make love to him and his whimpers and moans said he was enjoying how Stiles had approached him.

Which meant Stiles was free to let himself go and enjoy what was about to happen.

Working his way towards Derek’s bedroom was easy. Direction wise anyway. The house was small and tidy. The hallway completely uncluttered so there was nothing to trip them up as they made their way along the hallways like one being instead of two men. He could sink his hands into the lush softness of Derek’s hair and use it to tug his head back so that he could bite and suck his way down Derek’s neck. He could feel the solid weight of Derek’s cock pressing against his thigh as he walked him backwards. He relished the feel of Derek’s hands grabbing at his shoulders and sliding own his back; he gasped at how it  _finally_  felt to have Derek’s hands on his skin. It dragged a moan from him when Derek took advantage of the slight gap at the back of his jeans to stick his hands beneath both them and the soft jersey of his boxer shorts to take hold of his ass.

He barely registered the warm, soft décor of Derek’s bedroom because he was concentrating on making sure neither of them fell over the other side when they crashed onto the mattress. The smallest hesitation before Derek accepted his unspoken encouragement to lie on top of him and he was looking up into slumberous pale green eyes, tracing the blood beneath the skin that had risen in Derek’s cheeks; admiring the swollen lips as the two of them finally stopped kissing for a moment.

“One of us should ask and you seem delightfully non-verbal. Top or bottom?” Stiles was pleased with how steady his voice was, although it was still a tad harsh. No wonder as Derek had spread his legs so that he was straddling Stiles’ body, the sweet pressure of his ass resting on Stiles’ hard dick a glorious distraction. He wanted Derek out of those clothes—he wanted to see all of that beautiful skin laid out just for him.

“I—I’ve never topped.” Stiles froze—he couldn’t help himself. What the hell?

“What, never?” He shifted a bit on the bed, moving Derek from direct contact with his cock and making it possible to think once more.

“You make it sound like I’ve slept with lots of people. I’m not a virgin but I’m not the antithesis of that either. And the few times I did sleep with someone, it just seemed easier to let them drive so to speak.” Derek looked embarrassed and seemed to be withdrawing, something Stiles most definitely didn’t want happening. He needed to get this back on track—stop it being about Derek’s gifts and what it had cost him, and back to being about them and how fucking hot they were together.

“Do you want me to drive this time? I’m quite happy either way and we will definitely have time to try as many variations as possible.” He leant up so that he could place a nibbling kiss on Derek’s swollen mouth, pleased when the other man responded almost automatically. He could feel the way Derek relaxed and settled more of his weight onto Stiles’ body, and he leant back slightly and tugged the t-shirt over Derek’s head quickly, not giving him time to think, hesitate or object.

“This time?” Staring up into Derek’s eyes, Stiles involuntarily jerked his hips, pushing the other man further up his body so that once more he was resting against the hardness of his erection. God, he was beautiful—his chest was broad, tanned looking and muscled, the skin inviting touch as it gleamed in the light of a lamp that Derek must have turned on earlier.

“We have all night. I think we’ll be able to try a couple of things. Don’t you?” Sliding his hands up Derek’s back, he luxuriated in the feel of the soft skin over the lines of Derek’s solid, muscular body. Derek arched into his touch, pressing his groin against Stiles’ whilst resting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders.

“More than once huh?” He had to admire Derek’s determination not to be overwhelmed even as he could quite clearly see what it cost him in terms of trying to concentrate. Using the power of his abs, Stiles pulled himself up and smashed his lips onto Derek’s, at the same time grabbing hold of his hips and pushing them down, grinding his dick into the softness of Derek’s ass.

“Oh yeah, more than once.”

“Then you drive—the first time.” Stiles took a moment to appreciate the devilment lurking in Derek’s eyes before sliding his hands from Derek’s hips and around to the waistband of his jeans. With surprisingly steady fingers, he undid the button and slowly tugged down the fly….


	21. No More Teasing......

The hand around his throat was tight enough to affect his breathing, tight enough that Derek knew there would be fingertip bruises around his neck in the morning. Not that he cared, not when Stiles was kissing him hard enough to scramble any brain-cells that might still be functioning. Not when he was being held so that his back was pressed against the heated expanse of Stiles ’s chest, moaning incoherently as with another flex of his hips Stiles pushed himself even deeper into Derek’s body.

He felt surrounded by Stiles —trapped by his arms wrapped possessively around his body. His legs rested either side of Stiles’ body, the hairy brown of his thighs contrasting vividly with the smooth, whiteness of the muscled length of Stiles ’s thighs. With another shift of his hips, Stiles grazed his cock over Derek’s sweet spot and without Stiles ’s arms holding him willing prisoner, the hand at his neck twisting his face so that the kiss could be maintained, he might well have thrown himself away from the too-much, too-delicious sensations.

“Good?” Stiles ’s voice rumbled in his ear, heaping yet more sensations onto his over-loaded system. He could only nod frantically in response, the power of speech completely gone. “You feel like silk inside—even through this damn condom I can feel how soft and hot you are.”

Dirty talk. He’d never really experienced it, had thought it seemed weird and embarrassing when discovered it in the erotic novels he read. Not now. Now, Stiles ’s voice poured into his ears like heated honey—slow, sultry, sticky sweet. He couldn’t match Stiles ’s rhythm, his own hips jerking fitfully as he tried to chase the ecstasy just out of reach.

“Please, Stiles —please—“ Begging. That was him begging Stiles to get him there, to help him reach that diamond bright goal that was driving his every move.

“I’ve got you—I’ve got you. Fuck, you are something else Derek—so fucking hot.” The words made no sense—it was all background noise as Stiles settled Derek more firmly atop him, one arm pulling Derek closer so that his back was pressed solidly to Stiles’ chest. Derek hissed as Stiles licked his palm before slowly taking a firm hold of Derek’s cock, the grip sure and confident. “You ready? Cos I think things are about to get a little bit wilder.”

Wilder? Could he take any wilder? Ever since they had made their way into the bedroom, things had been completely out of his experience. He knew the taste of Stiles’ neck and shoulders; how quickly Stiles reacted when his nipples were bitten; how his abs fluttered when Derek licked them; knew the bend of Stiles’ cock resting in his hand, hard and throbbing. Derek knew the feel of Stiles’ hands in his hair, holding him a willing prisoner as Stiles fucked his face; he knew the weight and girth of Stiles’ cock in his mouth and on his tongue; knew the feel of the solidness of Stiles’ hips in his hands as he held on tightly—not stopping Stiles’ movements at all, just resting there.

But it wasn’t just that. He knew what it felt to be stretched out beneath Stiles’ body as Stiles kissed him from head to toe, licking and tasting every part of Derek’s body, snuffling into his armpits, stroking his biceps and pecs; tongue dipping into Derek’s belly button before sucking down his cock in one diving motion that made Derek’s head spin. He knew the graze of Stiles’ teeth on the head of his cock, making his toes curl as Stiles dipped his tongue into the weeping slit whilst holding Derek’s gaze. He knew all of that, and was desperate for whatever came next.

Derek drove himself upwards so that he could feel the tight grip of Stiles’ hand on his cock; down and he could feel the width of Stiles’ cock spreading him wide, so wide that he wasn’t sure he would ever be the same again. Stiles invaded every single part of his body—hips grinding in circles that spread Derek even wider before sharp thrusts pushed his body up and down, sliding over and over against that spot inside that made sparks fly behind Derek’s closed eyes. His hands were gripping Stiles’ arm, not fighting the grip on his throat, the way Stiles completely surrounded him making him feel safe and owned and hot and so fucking needy that he was whimpering like an animal.

“Fuck me—fuck me harder—deeper—please—“ That was his voice but not how he normally recognised it. It was high, reedy, begging. Stiles’ grip moved from his throat to his hip, pulling Derek into the thrusts that struck deeply into his body. Tight hand around his cock, jerking him off in rhythm, thumb sliding over the head as it wept pre-cum. Derek’s neck wouldn’t support his head anymore and he gave in to the need to let his head drop onto Stiles’ shoulder, eyes closed as he gave into the sensations that were driving him insane. He was a creature of feeling, sensations that were all his own—there was nothing of Stiles in them apart from acknowledging his mastery over Derek’s body. Even in the heights of passion, he couldn’t sense anything from Stiles and it was so good, so perfectly good that Derek would have wept if he were capable of thinking at all. He had never expected such an opportunity to present itself to him—the chance that not even a whisper of his partner’s feelings would taint the sensations he was experiencing. It was heady—exhilirating.

Disorientation as Stiles moved him forward, hands incongruously gentle as he positioned Derek on the bed, flat on his stomach. The heavy, thick slide of Stiles ’s cock gliding back into him, that weird bend touching places that had never been touched before, and Derek could do nothing but grab at the sheets—needing something,  _anything_  to ground him as Stiles began to fuck him just the way he had begged—harder, deeper. The weight of Stiles on top of him, pushing him into the mattress, the heavy taste of cotton in his mouth as he screamed into the coverlet. It was building inside, a hot ball within his stomach that grew and grew until it suffused Derek’s entire body. His balls were drawn up tight and he was rutting furiously against the sheets as much as he could.

And then there was no rhythm at all—there was just Stiles inside him, touching everything that made Derek who he was, slamming into Derek until he had no choice but to let it all go. He was vaguely aware of his entire body stiffening, all of his muscles clenching at once, the thick heat of Stiles pressed deep inside and then he was there—that diamond bright was all around him, lighting him up. There was screaming and groaning; the sound of Stiles ’s guttural groans in his ear, but Derek was no longer tethered to this earth. He was flying high and he was never coming down again. Not from this. Not ever.

Tight, spastic jerks against his ass and he could feel the heat of Stiles coming, filling the latex that separated them. Stiles’ teeth where his neck met his shoulder as his hands squeezed Derek’s ass around his cock, the solid weight holding him there—safe, secure—and Derek realised things would never be the same again just before he blacked out.


	22. The calm before the storm.....

Calmly, he watched as she closed the blinds, angry movements that matched the way she had spoken to him earlier that day. It seemed like everything she did was angry—it surrounded her like a dark cloud, colouring every movement. 

Colouring her environment. 

But it was the wrong colour. Dark wasn’t right—it should be red. Should be the colour of life, spread across the walls in an intricate pattern that only he would truly understand. Although in other circumstances, he would have possibly enjoyed getting to know her—teaching her the pattern. She seemed to understand that things had to be just so—had to be right or they were wrong. And wrong was unacceptable.

The timing was excellent—it had been over a week since he had messed things up with the Castle woman and he felt he deserved this—too many days of being ‘good’ as defined by others and this would be his reward. And she would be such a reward. He just knew she would fight. Knew she would struggle. Knew she would make it worthwhile, would appreciate the skill he brought to things in ways she had not appreciated the work that had been completed on her behalf. She needed to be shown just what he could do when he wasn’t hampered by witnesses who wouldn’t get it. He checked his watch—he needed to leave now, but he would return.

He smiled humorlessly as he found himself humming the tune ‘round and round the Mulberry Bush’.

Tomorrow.


	23. Early morning after....

Derek was a blanket hog. Stiles discovered that around 3 am. in the morning when he half woke up with the front of his body warm and relaxed, while his ass was cold enough to have goose bumps. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling and was pretty much the only reason he was awake at ass-end o’clock in the morning. Shifting closer to the softly breathing body next to him, he carefully tugged at the sheets that Derek had somehow managed to bunch up in front of him in a tangled lump. He figured it was the equivalent to a teddy bear or something that Derek could cuddle up to but Stiles was more than happy to be a replacement—he was self-sacrificing like that. He smirked to himself, aware that if he said something like that to Derek, he’d get his ass handed to him.

Speaking of asses, he was snuggled up to a truly stupendous example and his body was telling him that after a long drought glutting himself was perfectly acceptable. Nay, expected almost. Of course, Derek might have something to say about that—judging on things he had let slip and how incredibly tight he’d been both times last night, he might not be up to Stiles paying homage to his ass again quite so soon. But Stiles was in no way averse to switching roles—it was more about Derek being ready. Somehow, Stiles didn’t think Derek was a dedicated bottom—the man was opinionated and bossy and many other things that made Stiles think being in control could definitely be something Derek would enjoy. He got the feeling that never topping had had more to do with his previous relationships i.e. assholes who took one look at those incredible eyes and floppy soft-looking black hair atop that tightly muscled body and all they wanted to do was bend him over instead of learning what really cranked his motor. Stiles was not going to be one of those bastards. Besides, he would really like to know what Derek felt like letting go on Stiles’ ass—somehow Stiles thought he would be seriously inventive.

But in the meantime, he was awake, he was horny and he kinda wanted to show Derek a few new things. Sliding down the bed, he pressed gentle kisses down the long, lean line of Derek’s spine, stroking his hands up and down as he did so. He paid particularly attention to the tattoo in the middle of Derek’s back, kissing each intersection and tracing the lines. He reached the top of Derek’s ass and stopped, for just a moment allowing himself to enjoy the close up view in the dim light from the window. Leaning forward, he nuzzled at the dimples decorating the base of Derek’s spine, smiling as he realised that they had almost been advisory thumb-placements earlier when he had gently urged Derek forward until his face was pressed into the bed and his hips were in Stiles’ hands. God, fucking him like that had been intense and so completely unreal—Derek had held nothing back, mewling cries muffled by the mattress as he thrust his hips back to meet Stiles ’s movements. And Stiles needed to stop thinking about that at all if he wanted to take his time and do this properly. Because just the mental imagery was enough to make his dick firm up and express serious interest.

Derek shifted slightly and Stiles held himself still, waiting until Derek settled back down before resuming his activities. Holding the smooth cheeks of Derek’s ass in his hands, he dragged his nose down the tight furrow in between, inhaling deeply and enjoying the smell. Some of his past lovers had thought he was a bit weird about that kind of thing, but to Stiles there was something so delicious about smelling himself on his partner of choice. Derek smelt of Stiles, sweat, come and a little of latex which was regrettably but necessary. For now. When things calmed down—he didn’t want to freak Derek out or anything like that—they could talk about getting tested and forgoing them completely. Because Stiles seriously wanted to get into Derek’s ass without any barriers at all. He wanted to know what it was to feel Derek’s softness caressing his dick without anything between them and he seriously needed to stop thinking things like that otherwise he was going to go off on the sheets.

Pulling Derek’s ass cheeks apart, he stuck out his tongue and laid a stripe from just behind Derek’s balls, all the way up to the top of the crack of his ass. God, the taste was unreal—earthy, hot, warm. Derek. It was intoxicating and soon he was lapping and licking with abandon, diving into the slightly red and puffy furl of Derek’s asshole, nudging with his tongue until it softened enough for him to push for entrance.

“What the fuck—Stiles ! Warn a guy—fucking hell—“Despite his words, Derek didn’t try to close his legs and Stiles took that as permission to keep going. He shifted, encouraging Derek over onto his stomach so that he could spread the strong legs further apart and get better access. Stiles pressed his cock firmly into the mattress, thrusting slightly against the softness of the sheets as he delved his tongue deeper and deeper into Derek’s ass, licking and sucking, ignoring the mildly lingering taste of lube until he could only taste Derek. “Fuck, fuck—please Stiles, just—oh my fucking Christ!” It didn’t sound like Derek was objecting and Stiles silently patted himself on the back. Figuring that it was probably needed by now, he released one firm ass-cheek and reached underneath Derek’s hips to grab at the rigidness of his dick pressing into the bed. “Fuck, yes!” It was slightly awkward maintaining the action of his tongue while jerking Derek’s cock but it was worth it for the wordless exclamation that came from Derek’s mouth and the churning of his hips. It was all Stiles could do to keep Derek in place as he really went to town, tongue sloppy and messy against his asshole, grip tight on Derek’s cock. “Stiles, gonna—ugh, fuck!” Derek’s ass-cheeks clenched around his face and Stiles was forced to pull back, keeping up the jerking motions of his hand on Derek’s dick as the other man groaned out his climax. He gently squeezed as he moved his hand up and down, letting Derek fuck his hand until he slumped into the mattress breathing heavily.

It was only after Derek had come that his own desire became more urgent and Stiles shifted up and back onto his knees, taking himself in hand. As he began to pull at his own hardness, Derek shifted somewhat clumsily and laboriously over onto his back, straightening his legs out as he stared up at Stiles. Those beautiful pale green eyes were soft and definitely out of focus, his lips red and swollen, his chest and belly smeared with come. Stiles watched as Derek shifted until he could curl up enough to add his own hand to Stiles’, sliding up and down cock with long fingers, squeezing around Stiles’ hand and following the fast, ruthless rhythm he had instigated.  
“Come Stiles —I want you to come all over me!” Derek’s voice was low and rumbly, his eyes bright as his gaze went from Stiles ’s cock to his face and suddenly Stiles could feel his stomach clench, his balls tightening at the thought of claiming Derek like that—marking him in the most primitive fashion possible. Rolling his balls with one hand, stripping his cock hard and fast, Stiles forced his eyes to stay open, refused to let his head fall back as he watched come shoot from his dick and splatter over Derek’s supine body. God in heaven, just seeing it, his jizz decorating that smooth tanned skin made him want to come even more and his hips jerked spasmodically. Stiles’ balls felt like they were trying to turn inside out as he watched as Derek reached down and ran his fingers through the semen on his stomach, a final cry escaping him as Derek placed his fingers in his mouth and sucked.

“Fuck!” He barely managed to move to the side as he fell forward, only half-smothering Derek with his body as he desperately tried to get air into his lungs. Derek didn’t seem to mind, turning his body into Stiles ’s so that they were tangled together. Tiredness overcame Stiles quickly and he struggled to keep his eyes open, not wanting to fall asleep in case Derek wanted to talk, cuddle or whatever. He was determined not to be like  _anyone_ had ever slept with, ever. “You ok?” Stiles could hear how gravelly his voice was and tried to clear his throat. “I mean, sorry I woke you up but couldn’t really resist. You have got a killer ass.”

“Got to be one of the nicest ways to wake up I can ever remember—feel free to do it again. If you want.”

“Oh I want. Definitely want.” He could tell he wasn’t speaking in full sentences but he was pretty sure his enthusiasm came through nevertheless. A yawn split his face in two and his eyes drifted close and didn’t want to open again.

“Go to sleep Stilinski. Maybe if we wake up early enough tomorrow we can switch things up a little.” And if he hadn’t just basically come his brains out all over Derek’s stomach, Stiles would probably have been up for  _that_  straight away.


	24. Here we go round the Mulberry bush.....

It wasn’t quite the morning after Derek might have envisaged but that wasn’t to say it was a bad morning. For a start, he wasn’t much of a morning person himself but he still seemed to have more working brain cells than Stiles.

They'd obviously slept through whatever alarms either of them might have set the night before (although Derek was pretty sure he didn't remember doing anything as prosaic as setting an alarm clock), and the first he knew of it being morning was the cursing as Stiles fell out of bed. 

"Son of a bitch!" Pulling himself lazily across the mattress, Derek managed to open his eyes enough to take in the sight of a stark naked Stiles splayed out on the bedroom floor, golden brown hair spiked up all over the place in impressive bed-head, light brown eyes squinting in the light coming from the bedroom window.

"Er—morning?"

"Jesus! I knew you were a blanket hog about halfway through the night but actually kicking me out of bed is a bit much dude!" He watched as Stiles yawned widely and scrubbed at his eyes. He looked like an overgrown kid—a very sexy, well muscled, overgrown kid—and Derek couldn't hold back a smile. "What are you smirking at?"

"It's good to know you're not always full of the joys of spring. And don't call me dude." Flopping over onto his back, Derek indulged in a full body stretch, enjoying the feel of unusual aches and pains in his body. 

"Christ, what time is it?" Stiles climbed back onto the bed, still yawning even as he plastered himself against Derek's side and planted a kiss against the side of Derek's neck, pressing rather impressive morning wood into Derek's side.

"Um—wow, it's just after 10 a.m."

"What? Shit, shit, I am so late!" Derek watched as Stiles leapt out of the bed and rushed into the en suite bathroom. The door was left ajar and he could hear the sounds as Stiles took care of his bathroom needs. It was strange just how normal it all seemed—not in the same way as when Lydia stayed over yet almost as comfortable. Smiling to himself, he crawled out of bed and grabbed his sleep pants from the chair against the wall. Sliding them on, he made his way to the kitchen figuring Stiles might need coffee to help him get moving.

By the time he'd made coffee and a couple of rounds of toast, Stiles was striding into the kitchen wearing well worn but clean jeans, a plain blue button-down and tying a dark red tie around his neck. His hair was still damp and sticking up in slightly less untidy spikes but at least he looked a little more aware.

"Derek, I am so sorry! This was not—oh thanks—the way I wanted this morning to go." He munched quickly at the piece of toast Derek shoved into his mouth, finishing his tie before grabbing the travel mug of coffee Derek was holding out. "I didn't plan on running out the door but—"

"You need to get to work. Don't worry Stiles, I'm not so mentally fragile that I'm going to fall apart as though you're giving me the brush off. Besides, I need to get to work too—the bookstore won't open itself."

"I know but—I don't want you thinking last night was—"

"Last night was great. Pretty wonderful in fact. And since I haven't had my chance to _drive_ , you owe me a re-run. Go save the world." Where the confidence was coming from, Derek had no idea but it was nice to watch as Stiles tried to regain his footing. "I made the coffee black—make sure you slam the door on the way out. I need to shower and hit the road myself." Putting his half-finished mug into the sink, Derek turned to head out of the kitchen, 

"Hey! What, no kiss goodbye?" And there was the ultra cocky Stiles Stilinski Derek had come to know in such a short time, backing him up against the kitchen counters.

"I haven't brushed my teeth-"

"And I don't give a shit." Stiles ably demonstrated his lack of caring about Derek not brushing his teeth yet by taking his mouth in a very passionate kiss, nibbling at his bottom lip until he opened his mouth to the invasion of Stiles' tongue. It was instant flames, his blood heating, hands automatically grabbing at the material of Stiles' shirt as he lost focus. Stiles tasted like Derek's toothpaste and toast, his mouth gentle but insistent as he laid claim to Derek quite conclusively. Stiles stepped back before Derek was quite ready to let him go, a smug grin on his face as he took in the effect his kiss had had on Derek. "So—"

"So." 

"I will call you later?"

"Sounds like a plan." 

"And last night was—"

"Was what?"

"Thank you - for trusting me. And giving me a chance. And just to let you know, I have zero problem at all with you driving the next time we have more than twenty minutes alone."

"I shall hold you to that." Derek forced himself not to reach out for Stiles as he straightened his shirt and tie, grimacing as he was forced to rearrange his pants. It made something tingle pleasantly in his stomach to know he had such an effect on Stiles and he knew his own smile was now verging on the smug side. Stiles smirked back, his gaze dropping to take in the less than subtle thrust of Derek's burgeoning erection in the cotton sleep pants.

"Good. I **will** call you—have a great day and you don't mind if I leave those clothes and shit here right? Gives me another reason to come back if nothing else!" With a quick cheeky kiss to Derek's mouth, Stiles grabbed another slice of toast and was out the door moments later, leaving Derek with a raging boner and a stupid little smile on his face. No, not the typical morning after the night before but not bad at all.

And that seemed to sum up his day. It passed pleasantly with the store not being too busy. He received a text from Stiles around lunchtime, which was the first he knew about Stiles programming his number into Derek's cell. He found himself smiling even as he shook his head at the audacity of the man. It was nothing special, just checking in on him, but it made him feel warm that Stiles was taking the time out of his no doubt busy day to think of him. It buoyed him up throughout the afternoon and early evening, returning home where he put the bedclothes into the laundry before making the bed with fresh linen. 

A quick meal before putting his dishes into the dishwasher and he was ready for a shower and bed. The long relaxing shower made him once more aware of continuing aches in muscles unused to certain strenuous activities, as well as myriad fingertip bruises that were a testament to Stiles' passion. It was a lovely thought to go to sleep on, and smiling he climbed into bed and settled down to sleep.

> _He moved silently through the house, singing tunelessly in his head 'here we go round the Mulberry bush'. He could see the back of her head as she watched a huge television, completely unaware of the beautiful art they were going to make together. She was watching some mediocre horror movie, shoulders hunched in fear. If only she knew. The flickering light from the television glinted on the slim, lethal blade of the knife in his hand—_

A grunting cry tore from Derek's chest as he tried to scream, tried to warn the unsuspecting woman in his vision. He struggled with the covers, desperate to free himself as he tried to throw himself out of bed. The vision was so intense, so visceral, he almost expected to see the glint of the knife coming towards him, the silver gleaming in a beautiful sharp curve. 

> _Stood right behind her, looking down at her. She had no idea at all that he was there, no self-awareness at all. Maybe he'd stay there until an appropriate point in the movie, let the terror onscreen spill over into reality—_

Derek scrambled out of bed and fell, caught by the sheets tangled around his legs. He fought his way free from the bedding, staggering across the room, lurching for his bedroom door. Panic blinded him, made everything dark and terrifying—no, it _was_ dark, the lights were off. He ricocheted off a wall, hand groping for a light switch that somehow wasn't there.

> _Boring. He didn't want to wait any longer. Smirking, still singing in his head, he reached out to touch her neck—_  
> 

The headlights from a passing car illuminated the living room long enough for Derek to see his cell phone on the side table, next to a lamp. With fumbling fingers, he managed to click the switch that finally brought some light to the darkness and with almost nerveless hands he grabbed his cell.

The text from Stiles was on the screen—obviously, he hadn't closed the phone down properly earlier but he didn't care. He just needed to reach Stiles—get him to come and hold him, save him from the evil that was threatening to drown him in blood. 

The phone rang once.

Twice. Come on Stiles, please, please.

The third ring was cut off midway and a grouchy voice said "Stilinski."

"S-stiles." He could hear how thin his voice was, how weak and the vision tried to drag him under for what felt like the last time. 

"Derek?" All grouchiness was gone, concern bleeding through almost immediately. "Derek, what's wrong?"

He couldn't speak, his throat too tight as the vision came through clearer and clearer, the real world beginning to bleed out of focus. 

"Fucking hell, Derek, say something!" Stiles was yelling, Derek knew he was but it sounded so far away. Everything was so far away. Before he was dragged completely under, the vision becoming his only reality, he heard himself whisper in return.

"He's...doing...it...again!"


	25. Helpless as a Newborn

He couldn't get him to say anything else, though the line was still open. Stiles scrambled into his jacket, knocking paperwork off his desk as he did so. That was the only reason he hadn't been with Derek that evening—he'd been going over the medical report provided by Jonathan, trying to figure out the blunt instrument angle that was causing so much confusion. Scott had already left for the evening, an almost shy smile on his face as he said something about a date. It was a look Stiles had never before seen on his partner's face and any other day it would have been cause for much piss taking. 

Barely a minute after answering his cell, Stiles was on his way out of the precinct. What had Derek said? His last sentence had been so faint, he could barely hear it; something about doing it again. To be frank, it didn't really matter _what_ Derek had said. His panic had damned near reached through the phone line and slapped Stiles in the face, it had been so visceral. Derek was in trouble, serious trouble, and Stiles needed to be there.

It was raining lightly, enough to slick the streets and make him keep the wipers on. He cursed because it meant he couldn't drive was fast as he wanted—as it was, he was still driving too fast for the weather conditions. He seriously wished he had a siren or flashing lights in the vehicle as he kept his foot on the accelerator, barely slowing down for stop signs and halting at red lights only until there was a break in traffic. Even so, almost twenty minutes had passed by the time he pulled into Derek's driveway. He could see that a lamp was on in the living room and Derek's car was in its' customary place. 

He knocked on the door.

"Derek? It's Stiles, open up."

The silence inside was absolute, as complete as it had been arriving at the Castle house as if no living creature was inside. Stiles felt the blood in his veins chill as he imagined finding Derek looking like Anya Castle, and his voice was hoarse as he called out again, banging on the door with his fist.

There were no window panes in the door to break and he didn't want to take the time to go around the back and check out the no doubt locked kitchen door. Derek was too security conscious to have left it unlocked. With no thought in his head other than that he needed to get in there, he backed up and lashed out with his foot. It took over six solid kicks to break the lock and splinter the frame, but finally, the door flew open and crashed loudly against the wall. He knew he should be taking his time, assessing the situation, but his fear overcame his caution and he threw himself through the opening, his service weapon in his hand.

"Derek!"

He was just sitting there on the couch in a pool of light from the lamp, like a sculpture highlighted in a gallery. His eyes were open, fixed and unseeing and he was utterly still, utterly white in the golden light from the lamp and for a moment Stiles was convinced that Derek was dead, that he'd been killed and posed and it was like a punch to his heart. 

It took him a moment to remember what the witness from the food truck, Toni, had said about how completely still Derek had been but even so the terror didn't release its grip on him. Carefully laying his pistol to one side, he knelt on the floor in front of Derek and picked up one of his hands. He held it against his chest whilst he used two fingers and pressed against the tanned skin of Derek's wrist, searching for his pulse. It was there—slow but steady, and Stiles took his first real breath since getting the phone call. Derek's skin was cool to the touch but not overly chilled, not dead. Thank God, not dead. 

"Derek", he said again, feeling much calmer. Still no response. He looked Derek over carefully, checking for any obvious injuries but could see none. There was no sign of a struggle in the room, Derek's cell lying next to him on the couch. Disconnecting the call, Stiles placed the cell on the table next to the lamp whilst he considered his next move. 

He swallowed hard as he realised what must have happened. Derek had had another vision and by the looks of it, was still locked deep inside it. Was it something else in the gruesome underbelly of the city—drugs, street gangs, domestic violence? How much did Derek pick up during the course of a normal day? And God, did he ever get to pick up the good stuff—the joy of reuniting with someone at an airport, laughing at a joke, making love and feeling good? How the hell did he function if he was continually bombarded by all that was bad in the city?

Still unsure what to do, he got to his feet and closed the front door to the best of his ability before moving into the bedroom. Derek was only wearing the thin black sleeping pants he seemed to favour and he didn't want him getting unnecessarily chilled. The sheets and duvet were in a tumbled mess on the floor, possibly the first sign of the agitation the vision must have engendered. He picked them up and dumped them back onto the bed before looking around the room for something suitable. There was a huge hand-crocheted throw on the chair and he picked it up before returning to the living room where he draped it over Derek, tucking the folds loosely around his bare arms and chest. He didn't want Derek to feel trapped, just warm.

Grabbing his cell, he searched quickly through his list of contacts and even aware of the late hour had no hesitation in pressing the call button once he had found the right person. He studied Derek's oblivious face as he waited for the call to connect, tracking the beautiful lines of jaw and cheekbones, the clarity of the pale green eyes even now, the dark stubble dusting his skin.

"Hello?" The voice was confused and questioning and for a moment, Stiles was sorry to disturb him. But only for a moment.

"Dr Deaton?"

"Yes, yes, this is he. Who is this please?"

"It's Detective Stilinski, we met last—"

"Yes, Detective Stilinski, what's wrong? Has something happened to Derek?" The voice was suddenly much more alert and Stiles could hear rustling sounds as the Doctor obviously sat up in bed. 

"No. Well, yes actually. Look, Dr Deaton, Derek is having a vision or _something_ and I need to know what to do, what not to do."

"Of course, yes, I see. Bear with me Detective—I have Derek's notes here—yes, here they are. Let me just—" The Doctor's voice disappeared into incoherent murmurings which Stiles could vaguely identify as the sound of him half reading out loud. Deaton must have been re-familiarising himself with Derek's case and Stiles tried to wait patiently as he kept an eye on Derek. 

His patience finally gave out.

"Well?"

"Yes, right. During the episodes, Derek is, in essence, unreachable—he's effectively in someone else's mind and cannot be reached by conventional means."

"Conventional? What can I do?"

"Keep him warm, keep him safe and wait for the vision to start loosening its hold. Whilst the subject who has linked with Derek is in their heightened state of emotion, you will be unable to wake him safely."

"And then?"

"Typically Derek would come out of the trance state, be in a mild state of dehydration as well as confused. It can take some time for him to return to himself and in normal circumstances, he would fall into a deep recuperative sleep."

"Jesus, Deaton, he's as helpless as a newborn! Is there anything else I can do? Should I—"

"Sometimes he can speak, relay the details of the vision. Do not interrupt him, just let him get the details out. Then some liquid, perhaps assistance to the bathroom if it's required and then rest is the best that you can do for him."

"That's it? That's all I can do for him?" 

"You can be there for him Detective Stilinski. That is actually more than Derek had had on many occasions in the past." The words silenced Stiles as he took in just how isolating this whole thing must have been for Derek as he grew up. 

"I'll call you sometime tomorrow—sorry, later today. Let you know how he is."

"Thank you, Detective, I would appreciate that. Goodbye."

"Bye." Closing down his cell, Stiles sat down next to Derek, wondering how much longer the vision was going to continue.


	26. A Horrific Rendition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains what could be seen as graphic descriptions of violence and rape. Please do not read if you find such descriptions triggery.
> 
> * * *

Ten minutes ticked by and Stiles had made himself a cup of coffee then returned to Derek’s side. Derek hadn’t moved a muscle and Stiles felt itchy, desperate to do something, _anything_ to help but he could only sit by and keep watch. Five more minutes and he had had just about enough.

Very gently, he tipped Derek until he was resting along Stiles’ side then he wrapped one arm around the broad shoulders. 

“Come back to me Derek. It’s Stiles. Wake up and tell me what happened.” Derek’s head lolled against his shoulder and he continued to cradle him against his body, rubbing his free hand up and down Derek’s upper arm and shoulder. Derek’s eyes were closed now which, thank God, seemed a lot more natural, almost as if he were sleeping.

“Derek!” Reluctantly, he made his voice sharp. “For fuck’s sake, wake up and talk to me.”

Derek gave a moan and tried to push away from Stiles but his hand fell uselessly into his lap as if he couldn’t quite control it. He drew several jerky breaths and his lashes lifted then closed again, the effort obviously too much for him. 

“Derek, look at me.” Stiles deliberately said his name, calling him back from the depths of the vision, back to the real world where he belonged. This was so far out of the depths of his understanding but he was determined to bring Derek back from whatever dark pit had tried to claim him.

* * *

The voice was far away at first, a whisper calling his name when all he wanted to do was hide away. It was so insistent though, slowly forcing him to acknowledge that he wasn’t going to be allowed to remain hidden. He felt like he was lying against someone which in itself was confusing—people didn’t hold him, not like this. His family came the closest but even they to a certain extent were kept at arms’ length. Lydia fought that the most, although Erica and Boyd also pushed his boundaries when it came to accepting touch, his siblings unwilling to allow him to pull away completely. But this wasn’t someone from his family, no matter how safe he was feeling. Safe but irritated, the insistent rambling voice refusing to let him go. Stiles—of course, it was Stiles.

Derek forced his heavy eyelids to lift and found himself staring at that baby face, brown eyes dark with worry, delicate moles peeking through the light stubble decorating the normally smooth cheeks. He could feel the steady thump of Stiles’ heart beneath him where he lay practically on top of the other man, a reassuring, comforting thud-thud rhythm that made Derek want to cuddle up and go to sleep. 

Hazily he looked around. He was in his living room, the throw that Marmee had made for him pooled in his lap. He couldn’t remember Stiles coming over and he certainly couldn’t figure out why he was feeling so tired. He vaguely remembered going to bed and settling down to sleep before—

He’d called Stiles. He stiffened as memory returned in an awful flood of details that he would have given almost anything not to recall. His exhausted mind struggled to cope and he clutched at Stiles’ shirt, fingers twisting in the material. 

“Stiles.”

“It’s all right,” Stiles murmured, smoothing back his hair. “I’m here. You had another vision, didn’t you? What was it about this time? Sorry, just take your time—here, have some coffee.” He held a cup of coffee up to Derek’s lips and he took a cautious sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. He turned his head away when Stiles tried to make him take another sip. “That bad huh?”

“He did it again,” Derek said, his words only a little slurred.

“Who did?” Stiles asked absently, taking a sip of the coffee as though it wasn’t the singular most bitter substance that Derek had ever tasted.

“ _Him_. He killed another woman tonight.” His body started trembling, shaking him from the inside out. He could feel Stiles’ tense. 

“The same one who killed Anya Castle? The one you felt hunting the other day?” he asked carefully, his voice neutral. 

“Yeah. I—we knew he was looking from me feeling him the other day but it’s been so quiet. I guess I thought—I hoped—I wouldn’t feel him again.”

Still holding him securely against his side, Stiles picked up his cell phone and called central dispatch. After identifying himself with his badge number and appropriate security code, he got straight down to business. “Has a stabbing murder of a woman been called in?”

“No, it’s actually been really quiet for a Friday night. Maybe the rain’s kept the crazies at home. Why, you know something we don’t?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Listen, if anything like that does get called in, can you contact me or McCall? Doesn’t matter if it’s day or night, okay?”

“Sure thing, you got it.”

Stiles hung up and looked at Derek. “Nothing has been called in. Although I guess that makes sense since it’s literally just happened.”

Derek was still gripping Stiles’ shirt, a faraway expression in his eyes as he allowed himself to fade slightly into the memories of the vision.

“She has dark hair.” He spoke in a small, almost ghostly voice but his words were clear. “She’s quite pretty. Watching some stupid horror movie on the television all the while completely unaware that he’s right behind her. He’s humming to himself, some nursery rhyme that makes him smirk. Amused. How long until she realises that he’s there? Too long. Stupid bitch, this is boring. He touches her neck with his left hand then claps it over her mouth before she can scream. She’s more scared of him than the movie—that’s good, that’s how it should be. He’s holding the knife to her throat now, telling her to stay quiet. So obedient. He likes that.”

“Derek, are you **sure** it’s the same guy?” It’s obvious by Stiles’ tone of voice that part of him wants Derek to say no, to not be sure. But he’s positive. So certain.

“Yes. The movie is still playing, loud music covering the sounds as he makes her strip and lie down on the floor. He doesn’t want to use the couch—he needs room. He’s fumbling with something, something rubbery before he finds his place and he’s there. She’s crying, hiccuping little sobs that are so irritating. They almost put him off but he keeps going. There. There now. Finished now. He’s on his knees beside her, fumbling again—that’s not, it feels strange—but she’s still crying quietly. He’s bored again now. She hasn’t got the fight of the last one. He sticks her with the knife and she squeals and kicks her legs. Good, she’s up and moving. This is more like it, much more fun.

The chase is on. Around and around the mulberry bush while he jabs and stabs and sticks her with the knife.”

“Jesus Christ!” Stiles’ voice is hoarse as he breaks into Derek’s litany once more. “Stop now, Derek, that’s enough. You don’t have to say anymore.”

Derek blinked and refocused on Stiles, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he slowly dragged himself free from the memories. Too fresh, too real. He was so tired. Maybe now Stiles would let him sleep. Maybe even stay with him?

“You need to catch him.” His voice sounded drugged and he could feel the exhaustion pulling him at him. “So much anger, so much hate.”

“We will. I swear to God, we’ll catch him.” Stiles looked him straight in the eye and he could see the grim sincerity. “I promise.”

Derek nodded then allowed the exhaustion to take him over as he once more put his head against Stiles’ chest and allowed sleep to claim him.


	27. Calm before the storm

Figuring that Derek would be more comfortable in bed rather than cramped on the couch, Stiles decided he needed to move him. As a dead weight, the best he could manage was a fireman's lift over his shoulder which although not particularly romantic did give him a fantastic close up of Derek's rather stupendous ass. With swift movements, he carried Derek into the bedroom and laid him as gently as possible onto the bed. He didn't move a muscle as Stiles carefully untangled the throw and placed it on the chair, covering Derek with the sheets and duvet instead.

Back in the living room, he reached for his cup of coffee, grimacing at the now cold taste as he thought about what had happened that night. He didn't like any of it—seeing Derek suffering that way, knowing that another murder had been committed. It all sat wrong and with a glance at the clock he realised it was after midnight. Bollocks. He called McCall anyway.

The call connected on the other end and he heard a very feminine "Hello" at the same time as McCall was saying "Don't answer that!" It looked like McCall's date had gone well—a much better evening than Stiles at any rate. He heard some muttering, a giggle and then Scott got the phone away from his lady friend.

"Yeah?" Fortunately for him, Stiles wasn't in the mood to tease him. 

"Derek had another vision tonight," he said without preamble. "The same guy—he says he killed another one."

McCall was obviously shocked as the ramifications hit him, silent down the line for a good few seconds. "Where?"

"Nothing has been called in yet."

There was more silence. Then he said what they had both been thinking. "This will prove one way or another if Derek's for real."

"Yeah. Yeah. He's in pretty bad shape. I'm at his house if you need me. Dispatch is going to call if anything gets reported."

"Okay, okay, yeah. If Derek's right ... shit!"

Shit was right. Ending the call, Stiles sat drinking cold coffee and brooding, something he was loath to do. If Derek was right and the same perp who had murdered Anya Castle had done another woman, in the same way, they had big trouble. As badly as he wanted the bastard for what he'd done to the Castles, he'd still been hoping it was a one-off. He had thought it was personal—multiple stab wounds usually meant someone was really pissed at the victim. All that anger, rage and hate with potentially no personal attachment was downright scary.

Another victim, killed with the same MO, meant they had a psychopath in their city. A serial killer. Someone without conscience, someone who acted according to rules normal people probably wouldn't even comprehend. Worse, the bastard was intelligent enough to leave no DNA behind and little to no evidence. Smart serial killers were a real bitch to catch and normally they had to wait for them to make a mistake. Normally.

He knew he couldn't do anything but wait, He'd said as much to Derek. There was no way to investigate a murder that hadn't been discovered let alone reported. Until a body turned up, all he had was a fragile-seeming, trauma-damaged psychic or empath or whatever the hell Derek was. The thing was, he believed him; his gut believed him and that was frightening in itself. He was a logical person, not ruled by his emotions or hunches, but that logic was doing nothing to melt the core truth: he believed Derek was telling the truth and not because they'd had sex. 

An escalating serial killer who had killed again in just under two weeks. If they didn't figure out something soon, this could turn into a bloodbath.

Jesus, when would the body be discovered? Maybe the link was the husbands or partners worked nights? If so, the discovery would be in the morning. But if that wasn't the link, if she lived alone, who knew how long it would take—sometimes bodies weren't discovered for weeks.

Wait. That was all he could do.

His yawn almost split his face in half and he suddenly realised how tired he was. Hell, there was absolutely nothing else he could do at the moment. Mind made up, Stiles took his mug into the kitchen and rinsed it clean. A final check on the destroyed front door showed it was as secure as it was gonna get until he could sort out a replacement. Turning off lights, checking windows and doors—all part of his normal nightly routine that felt more 'special' because he was doing it at Derek's house. 

He stripped down to his boxers and placed his pistol on the bedside table furthest away from Derek. Climbing into the king sized bed, he pulled Derek into his arms, pleased when the sleeping man settled comfortable and easily. Derek was so deeply asleep, so vulnerable—Stiles felt like he should be protecting him. He would be willing to lie awake for the rest of his life if he could only protect Derek from the horrors he had gone through tonight. Derek had told him; Deaton had told him; hell, even the girl Toni from the food van had told him, but until he had seen it with his own eyes, he simply hadn't realised how traumatic it was for Derek, how it hurt him, how much it cost him. What must it have been like for him, feeling everything, all that pain and hate and rage? It would be enough to break _anyone_ , a testimony to just how strong Derek was. 

He wanted to be Derek's knight in shining armour but had a really bad feeling that it wasn't a role he was going to be able to play.

* * *

Stiles slept through until eight, instantly aware when he woke that Despatch hadn’t tried to contact him. Neither had Derek stirred which explained why he still had his fair share of the sheets and duvet. Derek lay limply against his side, his very stillness a gauge to his exhaustion. How long did the stupor normally last?

Getting out of bed, he took care of the three ‘S’s then moved into the kitchen to put on another pot of coffee. While he was waiting for the coffee to brew, he measured the front door for a replacement. He had just finished that when his cellphone rang.

“Heard anything?” McCall asked.

“Nothing.”

“What does Derek say?” 

“He hasn’t said anything. He’s been asleep almost since he came out of the vision last night. He managed to tell me what he’d seen, then passed out.” 

“I thought about this for ages last night. This kinda confirms the whole serial killer aspect. Should we tell Parrish? They might want to put together a task force or something.”

“Yeah, if you could fill Parrish in that would be great, although we can’t do a damned thing until the murder is verified. Homicide doesn’t jump into action until a body is found.”

“You know we’re going to feel like jackasses if no-one’s found.” Scott didn’t sound bothered by the idea and it made something within Stiles relax, knowing that even amidst all of this weirdness, his partner had his back.

“You know, I hope so.” Stiles said grimly. “I honest to God hope I feel like the biggest jackass in history. Because that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.”

McCall sighed. “I’ll talk to Parrish. How long do you think you’re gonna be at Derek’s?”

“I got no idea. At least until he’s aware and functioning on his own. Probably the whole weekend.”

“Wipes him out, huh?”

“Jeez, Scotty, you don’t know the half of it.” A thought occurred to him. “And while you’re out and around today, I need you to get a door for me. Derek’s met with a slight accident and isn’t particularly secure!” He braced himself for all the jokes, choosing not to mention the lady who had answered Scott’s cellphone—he could save that for a better time!


	28. Bro talk

Goddammit, there was that voice again, refusing to let him rest. It was a very patient voice but still relentless in its demands. On the very edge of his consciousness, he knew he recognised it, that it was familiar, but he was just so damned tired—he wanted to sleep, to forget. Fretfully, Derek resisted the disturbance, trying to find the comfort of unconsciousness again. 

“Derek. Come on Der. Wake up.”

For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t going to stop. Derek made one last ditch effort to turn away from the persistent sound but found himself held down,

“That’s right, Der-bear—let me see those gorgeous pale eyes of yours.”

Surrender seemed easier than trying to battle against the persistent, aggravating noise and Derek just couldn’t dredge up the energy to fight anymore. His eyelids felt like stone but he forced them open, frowning in confusion at the man who was sitting on the bed beside him. Strong arms were braced on either side of Derek’s body, holding the sheet tight; that was what was preventing him from moving.

“Well hello, there they are.” He said softly. “Hey Der, I was getting worried.”

Derek couldn’t think clearly—everything was fuzzy. Why was Stiles holding him trapped like this? His confusion must have been apparent because he smiled and lifted one hand to smooth Derek’s tangled hair back from his face.

“Everything’s okay. But you’ve been asleep for a long time and I wasn’t sure if that was the norm so I decided to try to wake you up. Gotta tell you, it took some doing.”

“What …? Why are you here?” he mumbled, trying to sit up. Stiles moved backwards, eyes intent on Derek’s face. Everything was taking so much energy and Derek felt aches all over his body. Had he had the flu? Why was Stiles here?

“If I had to make a guess, I’d say your need for the bathroom is pretty critical. Can you make it or do you need some help?”

As soon as Stiles mentioned it, Derek realised he did indeed need the bathroom. He nodded at Stiles, clumsily pushing the sheet and duvet out of the way so that he could swing his legs out of the bed. He gratefully accepted Stiles’ guiding hands as he slowly stumbled in the direction he was being led—where were they going again? He closed his eyes, a wave of tiredness sweeping over him. 

“Uh huh, honey, eyes open please.” His eyes jerked open again and saw he was in his bathroom. Thank God because his need for the toilet was pressing. “Can you manage or do you literally need a hand?” He couldn’t help giving Stiles a disbelieving look, a small smile breaking out as Stiles waggled his eyebrows. 

“I’m fine thank you, Stiles.” Derek could hear the weakness in his own voice but was determined to be independent. He could do this on his own—he always had before. He watched as Stiles left the room, deliberately leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar, before sinking down onto the toilet seat. Having taken care of his most pressing business, he pulled himself to his feet and faced himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink. He looked exactly as he felt: brain-fogged, mentally and physically exhausted, unable to think clearly. Maybe a shower would help with that nagging feeling that he needed to remember something. Something important.

Dragging his sleep pants off took too much energy and for a moment, Derek wasn’t sure he was going to make it into the shower. He fumbled with the controller, barely holding back a scream as the cold water struck his body. He stood under the spray as it turned lukewarm, letting the cool water wash away the fog and clear his mind until the memories slowly came back. For just a moment, he allowed himself to just feel, let the tears fall and mix with the water splashing his face, then he took a deep breath. God, could he put himself together again? Could he really cope with all of this _again_?

He stumbled slightly as strong arms enfolded him, the stream of water coming to an end as he was gently guided out of the shower. He stood numbly as Stiles efficiently dried him off, then helped him step into a clean pair of sweats. He wasn’t alone this time—Stiles was here, obviously ready to help and he couldn’t quite believe how much difference it made to how he was feeling. Yes, this was completely horrendous, but for maybe the first time he felt like he didn’t have to be strong and stoic; that he could lean on someone and know that they could cope. It was seductive and comforting at the same time. 

He looked down at Stiles as he knelt on the bathroom floor, pulling the sweats up Derek’s legs. This was more than simply sexual attraction, more than curiosity. This was caring in a way that Derek had never experienced. 

“Thank you.” Small words that couldn’t possibly convey everything he needed to express.

* * *

McCall arrived later that afternoon, driving a pick-up truck that he had no doubt had to borrow, with the replacement door in the truck bed. Stiles stood for a moment wondering just where his friend and partner had found the vehicle on such short notice, before stepping out of the house to help him unload the door from the truck.

“Whose truck is it?”

“Shaffer’s husband. Owed me a favour from when we took the damned case that started all of this.” They worked together to get the heavy door off of the truck. They didn’t have to ask if anything had been reported; if it had, they both would have been alerted. He smiled and waved at one of Derek’s neighbours who was peeking out of their front door, chuckling to himself as they instantly withdrew. There went Derek’s reputation, especially since it was the second night Stiles’ car had been parked in his driveway. 

“So….. new lady friend?” he enquired in a pseudo-casual tone of voice as they carried the door to the porch. 

“Um, no.” McCall was being unusually reticent and Stiles was instantly suspicious. It wasn’t that McCall boasted about his lady friends but he normally at least provided a name. 

“Close enough to sleep over and answer our cell in the middle of the night. Anything I should know about?” 

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Not yet.” 

Stiles wondered why Scott would be so protective that he wouldn’t even share a name. Only two possibilities presented themselves to him. One, the lady was married. He mentally shook his head—McCall was such an honest, straight forward guy, there was no way he would poach that way. Two, the lady was a cop. That made sense; it fit. Stiles immediately began running through names and faces, trying to match them to the voice he’d heard so briefly the night before. Everything clicked together like he’d just hit the jackpot on a slot machine. 

Dark curly hair tied back underneath her patrolman's cap, a fine-boned face and twinkly brown eyes. Extremely pretty but strong too. Not someone who would be pleased to be the subject of squad room gossip. She was a lot like Scott—straight forward, honest and a solid character. “Allison Argent,” he said.

“Goddammit!” McCall dropped his end of the door to the porch with an audible thunk and stood up straight to glare at Stiles. Stiles set his end down with less force and faced his partner. 

“What can I say?”

“Nothing. Make sure you say absolutely nothing.”

“Scott, Scotty—what kind of guy do you think I am? Hey, no problems here. But, you know, there’s a lot of your secrets I’m keeping locked away—one of ‘em might slip...”

“Fuck! Fine, whatever, say what you like about anything else but you keep Allison out of it. I’ll deal with any piss-taking from the guys but Allison is out of bounds.”

“Like I said, no problem. I like her—she’s a good cop. I’d spill your secrets in a hot second but I wouldn’t tell hers. I have to say, you could be asking for major trouble. You outrank her.”

“There’s no question of sexual harassment—what do you take me for Stiles?”

“Dude! Maybe not to you, or to you, but you know HR and the department may not see it the same way.” Though the concern was a legitimate one, Stiles admitted if only to himself how much he was enjoying this. McCall was glaring at him, dark eyes hot as coals. It was kinda nice to be able to get his own back after all of the ribbing he had been subjected to because of the situation with Derek. “How long has it been going on?” Not long—he’d lay money on it. He would have noticed his partner being so flustered and confused before now.

“A couple of days—maybe a week or two.” McCall spoke grumpily, the words dragged out of him.

“Wow! Moving a little fast there partner!”

McCall started to say something before he dropped his gaze from Stiles’. “ _I’m_ not!”

Stiles started laughing at the helplessness in Scott’s tone. He knew exactly how his partner felt. “Ahh, another good guy bites the dust!”

“No, it’s not that serious!”

“You keep telling yourself that buddy. I promise to make sure you don’t panic on the way to the church!”

“Damn it, it’s not like that! You’re not funny Stiles—this is just, it’s—“

“Just a fling?” Stiles inquired with a raised brow. “A good roll in the hay? Doesn’t mean a thing?” 

McCall looked hunted, his eyes wild. “No …. it’s...ah shit! But no wedding bells. I have no intention of getting married—moving in together maybe—“

“Uh huh!”

“Shut up Stiles!”

“Okay, okay, I believe you, dude. But it’ll really hurt my feelings if you don’t ask me to be your Best Man.” Smirking at McCall’s frustrated curse, Stiles went inside to see what he could find in the way of tools from Derek’s no doubt pristine ‘junk’ drawer, McCall following behind him. Derek was curled up asleep on the couch, looking pale and vulnerable even now. He took a detour so that he could tuck the throw more securely around Derek’s shoulders.

McCall was watching Stiles’ face rather than Derek. “You have it pretty bad yourself, partner,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Stiles murmured. “I do.”

“I wondered if it was just a case of wanting in his pants but it’s definitely more than that.” 

“Afraid so. Talk about getting under my skin.”

“Wedding bells for you?”

“Huh, you know what? Maybe!” He smirked crookedly. “I’m slowly working my way past his defences. Maybe we’ll have double wedding. _After_ we’ve caught out killer!”


	29. Stakeout

Derek woke as Stiles used the hammer to tap the pin out of the second hinge, sitting up on the sofa and watching them silently through heavy-lidded eyes. Stiles gave him an assessing glance and decided to let him surface fully on his own. It wasn’t until they were finished that Derek said in a bemused voice “Why did you change my door?” 

“The other door was damaged,” Stiles explained briefly as he gathered up the tools he had used. 

“Damaged?” Derek frowned. “How?”

“I kicked it in last night.”

“You—kicked it in last night? After I called you.” Derek rubbed his face with his hands. “Stiles, I’m so sorry I didn’t intend to worry you, let alone—“

Worry wasn’t quite how Stiles would describe it. He had been in a cold sweat panic. 

“Don’t. I’m just glad you thought to call me”. He turned to McCall who had just finished sweeping off the porch. “Do you remember my partner, Scott McCall?”

“Yes of course. Hello, Detective. Thank you so much for helping to replace my door.” 

“My pleasure.” McCall’s voice was gentle—it was obvious that Derek was still struggling to get himself together mentally. 

“Have you heard anything yet?”

Stiles and McCall shared a look. “No” he finally said.

A faraway look drifted into Derek’s pale eyes. “She’s just lying there. Her family doesn’t know, her friends. They’re going on with their lives, completely unaware that she’s lying there waiting to be found. Why doesn’t someone go by, just to check on her?”

“Derek, are you seeing something or—“

“No, I’m not picking up on anything—it’s just sad that she’s there, all alone.”

“I’m sorry, Derek, there’s really nothing we can do. With no name, no location, we have nothing to go on, nowhere to look. If it happened, someone **will** find her eventually. All we can do is wait, how much that sucks.”

Derek’s smile was bitter and Stiles would have done anything not to see it like that ever again. “It’s happened. It’s never **not** happened.” 

He sat down beside Derek whilst McCall took a chair. “Can you think of any details, anything you saw that could help us? Something you didn’t mention last night—could you see anything in your vision that could give us a clue? House or apartment?”

“House.”

“Nice looking or—“

“Nice. Very neat. Expensive furnishings. The television was huge, flat screen on a pedestal.” Derek frowned, rubbing his forehead. “Mulberry.”

“What? A tree, bush, something outside the house?”

“I don’t know! He just thought, sang that stupid nursery rhyme in his head.”

“Great help,” Stiles muttered, frustration getting the better of him. 

“Well, I’m sorry! What the hell do you expect—that the guy’s going to think _‘and here I am breaking into this house at so and so number on Mulberry blah blah and rape and kill someone?'_ **No one** thinks like that Stiles—everything is more automatic and subconscious.”

“Did you—you said Mulberry blah? Like an address?”

“What? No, I didn’t—I—“

“You did! Damn, Derek, do you have a set of maps or—“

“I’ll get my laptop out from the car. “McCall moved swiftly. 

“Can you hear him now, pick up anything?”

“I don’t know—it was more of an impression. This guy is an incredibly strong broadcaster—like Gerard in a way.”

McCall came back in, setting up his laptop quietly and efficiently.

“I’m not picking up anything because I’m too damn tired and I don’t think he’s broadcasting. I think I only hear him when he’s feeling something very strongly. Like, the closer he gets to the kill, the more his mental intensity builds. No one can maintain that level of rage for long, which is why I’m not receiving him broadcasting 24/7, thank God. I receive him almost right before and during the kill and then the intensity fades and he’s gone.”

“That would explain the fingers,” Stiles muttered out loud.

“Fingers?”

“Did Anya Castle scratch him at any point in time in your initial vision?” Stiles asked side-stepping Derek’s confused question. 

“I don’t remember—I—she clawed at him, so maybe? I didn’t see anything specific. Why?”

Which meant he’d noticed _afterwards_ when he was calm and Derek was no longer picking up his signal. The killer had been calm and deliberate when he cut off Anya Castle’s fingers—cold blooded bastard. He had absolutely no intention of telling Derek that detail—he had enough nightmares already. 

“The other night—when you felt him?”

“That must have been when he was stalking the latest one. Or choosing her.” Derek was becoming tired again, his eyelids drooping noticeably.

“Look, Derek, there’s nothing else we can do at the moment. I’m sorry I was such an ass. Just, why don’t you put your head down, see if you can get a little more sleep?” Stiles was pleased when Derek didn’t fight the suggestion, returning to the couch and curling up under the throw once more. Stiles couldn’t stop himself from tucking the throw more securely around Derek’s shoulders--it felt like it was becoming a weird fetish to make sure the guy was wrapped up safe and warm. “Sleep. I’ll be here, I’m not going anyway.” Between one breath and another, Derek was once more asleep.

McCall’s face was sombre as he watched Derek. “He’s completely helpless,”he said. “Is it like this every single time?”

“From the full on visions, yeah I think so. He’s actually recovered some—it was a lot worse last night and earlier today.”

“Jesus, I hope the killer never finds out about him then—he’s completely vulnerable. If his mental energy is so strong from a distance, can you imagine what it would do if he was targeted at Derek? He could be right in front of him and he’d be fucking helpless.”

“He’s not gonna get a chance to get close to Derek,” Stiles said, a grim promise in his voice. No matter what, he intended to keep Derek safe. “Have you talked to Parrish?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the idea that Derek might have confirmed the whole serial killer thing—wants to keep it on the down-low until we’ve at least got a body. But he’s pleased we’ve _”put our scepticism aside”_ —his words—and actually looking forward to working with Derek. I swear the Captain never struck me as the hoodoo voodoo type.”

“I wouldn’t laugh—we’re both swimming deep in the hoodoo voodoo pool right now.”

“Yeah but we aren’t leaping up and down with glee at the idea. Parrish seems to have quite the buzz going for working with Derek.”

“Parrish is a good guy—maybe a little weird, but okay. We’ve both known worse.”

“Ain’t that the truth!”

Stiles’ gaze wandered over Derek’s sleeping face before his brows drew together in a frown. “Mulberry.”

“Hell if I know. City map?”

“We’ve got Mulberry Crescent, Avenue, Estate, Trail—“

“Worse than that—Old Mulberry Estate, West Mulberry Drive—this list is fucking endless!” 

“Yeah, there is no telling how many streets have Mulberry in the name. That’s a freakin’ dead end—we can hardly go door to door on every one of them, checking for bodies. What do we do if no one answers? Break down the door and hope they’re not heavy sleepers?”

McCall shrugged. “Not like you haven’t done it before.”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“You’re right, though. We’re stuck. We may be certain Derek’s for real, and Parrish might have a hard on for this psychic bullshit but he still can’t authorise that kind of search. People would be screaming at the mayor—hell, they’d be calling it a police state and attack on their civil liberties. And they’d be right—we can’t do that—“

“So despite what Derek told us, we’re back to waiting.”

“Looks like it.”

There was absolutely no point in fretting about it. It was something they couldn’t change. Stiles allowed himself one keyboard smash of frustration before stepping back from the chair and changing the subject. “Would you mind going to my place and grabbing some gear for me? Work gear for Monday, that sort of thing?” 

“Sure, no problem.” McCall checked his watch. “I have time. I have a date tonight but I’ll keep my cell phone on.”

“Allison,” Stiles asked slyly.

McCall scowled. “Yes, I’m seeing Allison. What about it?”

“Nothing. Just asking.”

“Then stop grinning at me like such a jackass.”

McCall left and was back within the hour with Stiles’ clothes, the rest of his shaving kit and various toiletries as well as his pillow. “Do you know how incredibly limited your closet is? I’ve never seen so much plaid in my entire life! And your ties? None of them match anything! No wonder you dress for shit at work!”

“Fuck you! We can’t all look like a GQ photo-shoot.”

“I just hope you didn’t pay good money for any of that stuff. Hell, they should have paid you to take some of that stuff off their hands.”

Stiles hid a grin as he gratefully accepted the sports bag of clothing from his partner and carried it into Derek’s bedroom. He hung them up in the extremely neat closet, crumpling up the bag and tossing it into the bottom of the closet. He actually really liked the idea of he and Derek sharing closet space—actually sharing living space. Mind you, he’d have to have a seriously good clean out before there would be space for Derek’s stuff in Stiles’ place.

McCall left after some low-grade teasing and Stiles watched television for a while. He couldn’t find a baseball game so settled for grumbling through a procedural crime drama. He kept the volume low and Derek slept on undisturbed, 

Stiles had been on a lot of stakeouts, spent a lot of time just waiting. In stakeouts, boredom and the need to piss were the two biggest problems. This reminded him so much of a stakeout because the waiting seemed interminable, but the quality was different. They weren’t waiting to catch a criminal or prevent a crime—the crime had already been committed, they just didn’t know where or to whom. They were in the surreal position of waiting for a victim to surface, waiting for suspicion or worry to send someone to somewhere in the city related to the word Mulberry, to check on a friend, neighbour or relative. Only then would the waiting be over.

“You’re thinking about it aren’t you?”

Derek’s voice startled him, breaking into his sombre thoughts. Stiles jerked his head round to look at him; he was sitting up again, haunted eyes on him. Stiles’ realised he had been staring sightlessly at the television for some time because it was after eight o’clock.

“It’s not something you can put out of your mind really,” he replied.

“No. No, it isn’t” For Derek more than anyone else—knowing that body was out there, waiting to be found.

Stiles flicked the remote to turn off the television. “Should we order some pizza—you must be hungry.”

Derek yawned and stretched as he nodded. “Yeah, that would be great. Are you okay to place the order while I grab a quick shower? I think it might help wake me up.”

“Sure, just maybe take your clothes off this time?” Stiles smirked as Derek gave him the finger on his way to the bathroom. It was good to see some of the more snarky side of Derek again—if Stiles had his way, that was the Derek he would be seeing so much more of in the future. 

As soon as they found this damned killer.


	30. Teenage Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - hospital appointments, etc have kept me busy this week. Thank you for all of the lovely comments - they are certainly feeding the muse. So to make up for the wait, here's about 2000 words of fluff and smut to say thanks!

Just how he found himself eating pizza in bed watching iZombie on Netflix was something Derek couldn't quite figure out. He definitely blamed Stiles who was sat with his back resting on the headboard, bare chest distracting Derek with its smattering of moles as well as what looked to be tomato sauce and specks of cheese. 

The conversation, by mutual silent agreement, had absolutely nothing to do with murder. Instead, Stiles regaled Derek with tales of his upbringing. The only son of a county Sheriff, he had got himself into any number of scrapes, mainly from listening in on the police radio and acting on the information he got from it. There were childish fallings out with his best friend, Jackson, including their one major argument when Jackson insisted he was a giant lizard beast who had frozen Stiles with his venom and tried to convince him he should have drowned when Jackson pushed him into the pool. They had not spoken for the epic amount of time of eight hours—mainly because Stiles refused to believe that any such thing could stop him and therefore Jackson was completely in the wrong. He managed to top that exploit with the story of the time that he had managed to convince Jackson to go into the local preserve in search of a dead body. All they'd managed to catch was a bad case of poison ivy and a two-week grounding.

In turn, Derek shared stories of growing up with his various foster siblings: Lydia who was a mathematical genius who would no doubt win medals if only she could get past her truly abysmal taste in men; the time when Boyd, Isaac and Derek ran away from the 'interfering women' in their lives and tried to spend the weekend living wild and free like a wolf pack in the local woods. This lasted until Isaac said he was feeling cold and went home to pick up his favourite scarf and didn't return; Boyd decided he missed Erica too much and that being wild and free wasn't worth it if he couldn't be with her; Derek finally gave up his freedom because he was missing playing Call of Duty with Marmee and he didn't want her character getting too far ahead of his because she was ruthless enough when they were playing catch the flag!

By the time Derek was telling Stiles about the time Erica convinced him to let her pluck his eyebrows and he'd ended up with one brow growing back _very slowly_ for an entire semester, they'd devoured the giant pizza, plus garlic bread and drunk far too much soda. 

"I don't understand—how could she over-pluck one to that extent and not the other one?"

"She said my cries of man-pain confused and distracted her!"

"Well, can I just say, your brows grew back magnificently!"

"Thank you." Laughing, Stiles gathered the debris from their meal and took it to the kitchen to dispose of it. Returning to the bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Derek spread across the bed in a relaxed sprawl, eyes heavy lidded with satisfaction rather than pained exhaustion for the first time that day.

"I hope you're not thinking about anything energetic—I am under strict instructions from McCall to let you rest."

"Oh really?" Derek sat up, pleased when Stiles' gaze dropped to the broad expanse of his chest. "Should I thank your partner for his concern or rail at him for potentially cock-blocking my evening?" He shifted sideways on the bed, making room for Stiles to climb in beside him.

"See, I'm not sure. It's cool that my partner cares about your welfare and all but—well, I can think of a few things we could do that might well help you sleep more soundly."

"Oh really?" They had shifted around until they were lying face to face on the bed and Derek slowly trailed his hand down the side of Stiles' face, gently moving his fingertips from mole to mole in a meandering pattern. "Do go on—I'm all for anything that helps me get a good night's sleep."

"Well I'm glad you're open to new things—it shows that you're not set in your ways," Before he could even pretend to be upset at that subtle dig at his age, Derek found himself with an armful of Stiles. 

Then they were kissing—sweet little pecks turning into long wet presses of open mouths until their tongues were tangling and Derek was quite happy to let everything other than this out of his mind. Stiles climbed on top of him, straddling his body so that he could feel the hard thrust of his dick pressed against his stomach. It made something inside ache as he was reminded that he'd felt that inside him. God, it was ridiculous just how hot that made him feel, his hips almost involuntarily thrusting upwards, pressing his own aching hardness into the firm press of Stiles' ass.

He wasn't sure he was up to taking his turn 'driving' but he definitely wanted something. He wanted to touch more of Stiles' skin, wanted to learn by heart where each of those enticing moles was, wanted to trace the tattoo of lyrics that Stiles had on his ribcage; he wanted to know everything about the lean, muscular body on top of his; wanted to make it his own.

A sense of urgency came over him and he knew his hold on Stiles became tighter, more possessive but there was nothing he could do to stop himself. He shoved his hands down the back of Stiles' sweats, gripping the firm cheeks of his ass and trying to pull him impossibly closer.

"Are you wanting to get dirty Mr Hale?" Stiles' had pulled back from their kisses, pressing his lips to Derek's ear. "I have a few suggestions."

"Or—"

"Or what?" 

"Or we could just do this." Derek pushed until Stiles rolled over onto his back, legs wrapping around Derek's waist in a vice-like grip. Hesitantly, he pushed forwards with his hips, groaning as their cocks rubbed against one another.

"I like how you think." 

"If you can still talk this much, I mustn't be doing this right." This was a slow dirty grind, a gasp pulled from Stiles as Derek felt their dicks rub together through the thin material. It was deliciously filthy, such a teenage thing to do but something he had never experienced. And what a damned waste that was—the feel of Stiles' hands gripping his shoulders to pull him in close, hips churning as he thrust up in counterpoint to Derek's movements, muttered curse words as simple friction drove their lust higher. His teenage years would have been so much more satisfying if they’d involved this.

"Gonna . . . . ugh . . . take . . . fuck . . .more than this to . . . . holy shit, right there . . . shut me up!" In the back of his mind, Derek was proud and kinda amazed that Stiles to be as affected by this as he was. But that was definitely in the back of his mind. In the forefront was the ramping up of his desire at Stiles' panted words; the need eating away at his control as he tried to maintain something resembling a rhythm with his hips when all he wanted to do was rut against the warm, responsive body beneath him, drown himself in the physical sensations flooding through his body. 

It was all becoming too much: the drag of the now moist material against his aroused flesh; the pulse of Stiles' hardness thrusting in counterpoint to his own; the nails digging into his shoulders as he and Stiles kissed almost desperately. Derek pulled back to pant for breath, rhythm all but gone as he pushed himself into the cradle of Stiles' muscular thighs and let it all go. Tension, stress, fear, worry—all of it drained away as the climax thundered through his body. He was blind and deaf to everything as he threw back his head and shouted his release, only vaguely aware of Stiles' matching cry.

He had no idea how long he lay on Stiles' supine body, his breath slowly calming until he registered that Stiles was stroking his hair and pressing light kisses against his face. It took all of his strength to lift himself off of Stiles so that he could collapse beside him on the bed, grimacing at the feel of the wetness in his sleep pants.

“Holy shit.” Derek turned his head to face Stiles, a tired smile crossing his face as he took in the sated look on his lover.

“Yeah, that was—well, that was pretty much everything I ever wanted when I was a teenage boy but never had.” Stiles nodded in understanding, a sweet smile on his face. 

“Hey, any other teenage fantasies you want to bring to life, I am **more** than happy to lend a hand.”

“You are, huh?”

“Oh yeah. I wanna do **ALL** the things with you Mr Hale. Every dirty school boy’s fantasy; all that porn I bet you used to watch.”

“You are such a giver Stiles.”

“And a receiver, don’t forget—whenever you want to drive big guy.” A huge yawn split Stiles’ face. “Okay, maybe not right away but you know, when we’ve caught up on some sleep.” 

With a grin, Derek pressed his pointer finger against his nose. “Not it.”

“What are you—oh hell, no, I’m not getting up!”

“But I said not it first! Sorry Stiles, rules are rules. Believe me, with the number of siblings I’ve had over the years I’ve had to learn to be quick!”

Grumbling good-naturedly, Stiles climbed off the bed and made his way to the bathroom, walking with a wide-legged gait to avoid the wet sweats clinging to his body. While he was gone, Derek wriggled his way out of the stained sleep pants, throwing them in the direction of his laundry basket. He missed but couldn’t bring himself to care, the satisfied smirk on his face almost enough to make his cheeks ache. 

The smile widened as Stiles came back into the room bearing a towel which he proceeded to use to wipe Derek clean. It was just another example of his caring nature that tugged at Derek’s heart even as he enjoyed the unencumbered view of Stiles’ nakedness.

“What are you grinning at?” Finished cleaning Derek off, Stiles threw the towel to the floor and climbed back into the bed,

“Nothing. Well, not nothing. Just—this. This is nice.”

“I must be doing something wrong if nice is the best I get.”

“No. I mean, nice and normal. I never had this. So it’s nice. And nice is good.” Derek smiled even wider as Stiles snuggled in close, turning his back and grabbing Derek’s arm so that he automatically turned and became the big spoon.

“Nice is good. I can work with nice.”

“Yeah?” For a moment, Derek felt doubts creeping in. What if all of this was too mundane for Stiles? What if rubbing off against each other was too juvenile and on top of the empath weirdness, he decided he wasn’t interested?

“Oh, yeah. This may well be the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. Which is saying something with my workload the way it is. I am more than happy to do _nice and normal_ with you any day. Now shut up—some of us haven’t spent the day snoozing and unlike you, I need my beauty sleep.” Stiles lifted his hand and pressed a kiss against Derek’s knuckles. “Sleep babe.”

Cheeks flushing at the endearment, Derek slid his free hand under the pillow and pressed himself more closely against the lean line of Stiles’ body. He could feel it as Stiles fell asleep almost immediately, completely relaxed within Derek’s embrace. This too was something new, something he had never really experienced in his limited relationships in the past. Derek sighed and relaxed. He could definitely do nice and normal.

* * *

The sound of Stiles’ cell ringing woke them both from a deep sleep. Stiles fumbled his way free from Derek’s sleepy embrace, cursing as the phone vibrated itself away from his clumsy fingers.

“Dammit! Yeah, Stilinski.” Derek flinched away from the sound disturbing his slumber, burying his head in his pillow and trying to go back to sleep. “Where? Okay, send the address to my cell. Has McCall been contacted? Right, I’ll meet him there. Thanks.”

The sound of Stiles’ heavy sigh made Derek lift his head, the fog of sleep slowly dissipating.

“What is it?”

“They found her. Mulberry Court Estate.” Derek snapped awake, meeting Stiles’ sympathetic gaze. How could he have forgotten, how could he have let all of that slip from his mind? 

Nice and normal had never seemed so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [iZombie ](http://www.cwtv.com/shows/izombie)on Netflix is my latest obsession - I'm in love with Ravi, as well and Major and Blaine. The writing is funny, the cases are interesting and there's two seasons to enjoy before you have to start waiting for Season 3 - you should give it a look.


	31. A Clean Scene

Stiles drove automatically, trying to clear his mind of everything. He needed to not think about Anya Castle in case it prejudiced his view of this case; he needed to not _hear_ Derek reciting the murder as it happened—he needed to look at this with fresh eyes.

It took only a little longer than ten minutes to reach Mulberry Court Estate. The street was cluttered with the usual assortment of official vehicles and some sightseers. Stiles got out of the car, studying the bystanders with professional interest. He didn't recognise anyone from the Castle crime scene—none of the gawkers here matched in his mind but he was glad to see pictures were being taken of this crowd too.

Mulberry Court Estate was slightly more up-scale than the area the Castles' had lived in. The houses weren't bigger but they were newer. There was a small carport attached to the house and that was where the small knot of uniforms had gathered, although there was one patrol-man guarding the front door and Stiles assumed there was one at the back.

Tina Shaffer and her partner, Chris Donald, were the detectives on call that weekend, and they were already there. Tina came over as soon as she saw Stiles, smiling broadly. "Well hello good looking," she said, tucking her hand inside his arm and drawing him to a standstill. "There's no hurry—come talk to me for a minute."

Anyone but Tina and Stiles would have shrugged them off but it was obvious Tina wanted to talk to him so he let her guide him to one side. He looked down at her and gave her a questioning smile. 

"According to Dispatch, you wanted to be notified of any female stabbing fatality." Stiles gave a brief nod, hoping to hurry her up without being rude. He didn't want her to get pissed or feel that he and McCall were sticking their nose into one of her cases.

Tina patted his arm in a reassuring fashion. "I figured you and McCall wouldn't have done that without a damn good reason, so I've held the scene for you. Consider it payback for landing you with that shitty case the other weekend,"

"Held the scene?" Stiles was stunned. "You mean, _no one_ has been inside?" 

"That's what I mean sugar. The patrol-man who found the body deserves a commendation. He literally backed out as soon as he saw her, touched the doorknob and nothing else. He secured the area and called it in—it's probably the most pristine crime scene in the history of the department. Jonathan on his way." She tapped him twice on the cheek. "You're welcome."

"Wow, Tina! That's just—yeah, we'll wait for Jonathan. Thank you." He thought for a moment. "How did the patrol-man happen to find the body?"

Tina flipped quickly through her notes. "The victim is a Laura Taylor, divorced, no children. Her ex-husband lives in Seattle. She worked at one of the larger law firms as a legal secretary, very good at her job, very dedicated. She had plans to meet one of her colleagues for a breakfast meeting. When she didn't show, the friend got concerned, tried calling. Apparently, Laura had some medical issues so the friend was concerned enough to come over and check on her when there was no answer. Taylor's car is in the carport, the television's blaring, lights are on but there's no answer. So the friend had the sense to call 911. Patrol officers Ethan Carter and Danny Mahealani were nearby and got here before the emergency crew. They beat on the front and back doors but got no response. Officer Mahealani forced the lock on the front door, saw the victim and withdrew immediately." She closed the notebook. "The friend's name is Cora Hudson. She's sitting in the carport. Apparently she caught a glimpse of the body and she's pretty rattled."

Another car added itself to the congestion and Stiles glanced at it and identified McCall. Tina did the same, then looked back at Stiles with a wry look. "Now how about you share with the class what's going on? How the hell did you know to ask Dispatch to look out for this shit?"

"We want to look for similarities to the Castle case," he said as quietly as he could. "We think it might be the same perp."

Tina's eyes widened and a look of horror crossed her face as the implications sank in. "Well, shit," she breathed. "It's even the same freaking day of the week."

"Don't think we hadn't noticed." He gave a slight shudder just trying to imagine what moniker the press would come up with. McCall joined them, looking way too crisp and clean for that early on a Sunday morning. Stiles wondered how the hell he did it then realised he didn't care—there was no way in hell Stiles would put in the effort it obviously took.

Quickly, he brought McCall up to date on what had happened so far. Tina asked, "Do you want to question the friend?" Stiles politely declined. 

"This is all yours. We just want to see the scene."

"That's fine. You don't have to wait for Jonathan you know."

"I'd like him to get it as clean as possible and that includes us."

"Well, he's never likely to get a cleaner scene than this one. " With that, she left the two of them, returning to the group at the carport. 

"It's a house. and the address is _Mulberry_ Court Estate," McCall said unnecessarily. "We were on the right track—Derek was on the right track. Be interesting to see if it's got one of those huge TVs."

Stiles put his hands into his pockets, trying not to fidget. "Do we really have any doubt?"

"I don't."

"I don't either. Shit."

"I called the Captain. Thought I should keep him up to date."

"Good thinking. Knew I kept you around for something other than those puppy dog eyes of yours." They continued to banter back and forth until they saw Jonathan, the Chief Medical Examiner, arrive in the crime scene van. As he clambered out, Stiles and McCall walked over to meet him.

Jonathan was very obviously not in a good mood, the small man fairly bristling with irritation as he scowled at both of them.

"I have a perfectly good team of staff working for me, two of whom were on duty today. Exactly why did Tina insist I come on duty and attend this one personally?"

Evidently Tina had sensed something unusual all round, bless her. Stiles would have kissed her if it wouldn't have gotten him a punch on the nose. "This one's special," he told Jonathan, helping him to unload his kit and equipment. "For one thing, the scene is completely untouched—you're the first person in."

Jonathan halted, open mouthed. "You have got to be shitting me!" His eyes gleamed. "That just doesn't happen."

"It's happening this time. Consider this an early Christmas present, or Hanukkah if that's more your thing. I wouldn't expect this again in your lifetime."

"No one is that much of an optimist. Okay, what's the bad news—I can tell there is some."

McCall was coolly studying all of the murmuring bystanders. "The second thing is, we think it was done by the same person who did Anya Castle. That's why we wanted you—you're the best person to see similarities,"

"Ah hell." Jonathan sighed and shook his head. "I really wish you hadn't told me that. That's a whole big heap of trouble right there, though I guess you didn't need me to tell you that." 

"Yeah, we know. Is this all of your stuff?"

"Yes, thank you. Lead the way." Stiles called Mahealani to go in with them. The patrol-man deserved the recognition _and_ to be included. The epitome of tall, dark and handsome, Mahealani was pale under his tanned skin, but steady as he detailed his actions for them. He was even able to tell them the body's approximate distance from the door and appeared to have written copious notes.

"Can you see the body from the street when we open the door?" Tina asked, she and Donald having joined them now that Jonathan was here. 

Danny shook his head. "No, there's a small entryway, with the living room off to the right. I'd taken a step in before I saw her."

"Okay, Jonathan, this is all you." 

Jonathan opened the door and stepped in, quickly putting paper booties on that matched his jumpsuit. Without speaking, he moved to the right into the living room, allowing the rest of them to follow him into the entry way and close the door. The television was displaying paid commercials, the volume too loud as if the watcher had been hard of hearing. That or the sound had been turned up to drown out Laura Taylor's screams. Jonathan pushed the power button and the screen went black, the sudden silence seeing loud in the room. Stiles and McCall looked at the television from their position in the entryway. Large screen, very modern. Just as Derek had described. None of them said anything as they watched Jonathan begin his collection ritual. 

The door opened behind them, Captain Parrish stepping into the entry and adding to the tight squeeze. He looked at the gore visible from the entryway and went a little pale. "Jesus."

Donald spoke up. "Do you guys want to take a look around? You know what you're looking for." 

"That's why you and Tina should do it," McCall said, his thoughts obviously running along the same lines as Stiles' own. "Just tell us what you find and then we'll have a look ourselves."

Donald nodded and Tina grumbled. "You just don't want to risk getting your pretty outfit dirty. I've told you before, you're too much of a clothes horse McCall." Stiles smiled a little, well aware that Tina was trying to break the palpable tension.

"I've told him he shouldn't wear his good stuff but he never listens to me." 

"Well, maybe cos you could do with wearing some of _your_ good stuff for a change!" Donald and Tina briskly began their methodical search of the house whilst Jonathan summoned his fingerprinting team in so that they could begin dusting every available surface. Stiles could hear the sounds of questions being thrown by reporters as Laura Taylor's body was finally tagged, bagged and carried out to the M.E.'s van. He doubted the reports would be on to the serial killer aspect so soon but one more stabbing and he could imagine the reports that would spring up all over the internet.

Parrish pulled Stiles and McCall to one side. "If it looks like the same guy did it—"

"He did," Stiles said.

"Everything's exactly the way Derek described it. He even gave us a clue on the address." McCall added.

"Is there **any** way he could have had prior knowledge? I know, I know", Parrish said, holding up his hands. "I was the one who originally thought he could help us. You guys first posited the accessory theory, so this is a question that needs to be asked."

"No," Stiles said. "We already established that he couldn't have been at the crime scene for the first murder, and I was with him last night. He called me when the vision started—I was at the precinct—and I drove straight to his house. He hasn't been out of my sight since then."

"Okay." Parrish nodded, satisfied. "I want to see everyone in my office tomorrow morning at nine thirty. We'll go over everything we have, anything new that Jonathan and his team find, start setting up a task force. I'll notify the Chief—he can make the decision about informing City Hall."

"I hope he holds off," Stiles said. "Information leaks out of City Hall like a giant sieve."

Parrish looked unhappy, obviously in agreement. "I don't think this is something he can keep completely to himself. If the media break this before he's informed the people who need to know....."

"I get it, I get it," Stiles replied. "Just—even if he can hold off for a couple of days. Even if the guy's escalating, we've got a few days. The longer we can keep it quiet that we know it's one guy..."

"I'll talk to the Chief." was all Parrish could promise and Stiles hoped it would be enough. They needed as much of a head-start on this guy as they could get and he didn't want any leaks at City Hall messing that up for them. He and McCall shared a look before turning back to the organised chaos in the living room. They needed all the help they could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is all a bit plot heavy at the moment. I promise we'll have some time with Derek and Stiles in the next chapter. Apologies for the delay in posting - been a busy week.


	32. Duty before Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well apparently plot isn't a bad thing. Thank you Devilscut and Mulder2000 for your kind words - they definitely helped this come out a lot quicker. Who knows, maybe two updates this week?

Shortly after the conversation about City Hall, Shaffer and Donald joined them. “The murder weapon was a kitchen knife, looks like it belonged to the victim,” Donald reported. “It matches others in the kitchen. Looks like he entered through the window in the guest bedroom by cutting through the screen.”

“It rained last night, “ Stiles said. “Any footprints under the window?”

Shaffer shook her head. “Nada. He was obviously very careful.”

“Or he got in before it started raining and waited for her,” McCall suggested.

The idea made Shaffer blanch. “Jesus, McCall, you can be as creepy as fuck sometimes. Just the idea that he was in the house with her for God knows how long, her having no idea, makes me wanna retch.”

“What about afterwards?” Officer Mahealani asked almost under his breath, stammering slightly when they all turned to look at him. “I just mean, it should have been raining when he left—maybe he left footprints then?”

“Good thinking but only if he exited the same way he entered,” Stiles said. “And there was no reason to. He’d look a lot less suspicious just walking out the front door, assuming anyone saw him which I doubt. And the path and sidewalk are concrete—no footprints.”

“She was wearing pyjamas at the time of the attack. We found a pair of bottoms in the laundry basket with blood on them. No top either. We’ll get it typed, make sure it matches our vic.”

“Husband? Wife? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Parrish asked.

“No one. According to the friend outside, the ex-husband lives in Seattle but the divorce was over nine years ago. No contact between Taylor and him. No current partner either. Okay, level with me: does this sound like your guy?”

“Afraid so,” Stiles replied. “Did Taylor frequent any bars, gyms, clubs—anything or anywhere else she’d be in contact with a lot of men?”

“I don’t know,” Donald answered this time. “We didn’t get that far in questioning the friend. You’re more than welcome to talk to her while we’re finishing up in here. We’re all gonna be pooling our notes anyway, right?” From his tone, it was plain that Donald would be more than happy to hand the whole thing over to Stiles and McCall.

A low wall of cement block stacked two high enclosed the carport. Cora Hudson was sitting on the wall, huddled in on herself. She was staring numbly at the crowd of police personnel milling around. She was of medium height, slim build, rich brunette hair pulled back into a simple up-do, small pearl studs decorating her earlobes. She was dressed for a casual brunch—wide-legged pants, a floaty white blouse, a chic tote bag slumped at her feet. Stiles sat down next to her on the wall whilst McCall stood opposite so that he could read her reactions, resting against Laura Taylor’s car.

“Are you Cora Hudson?” Stiles asked, just to be certain although it was pretty obvious.

She gave him a vaguely started stare, her light brown eyes clearly showing her distress. “Yes—yes I am. Who are you?”

“Detective Stilinski.” He indicated McCall. “And Detective McCall.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She said politely, then looked horrified at her words. “Oh God, how could I say that? It _isn’t_ nice to meet you. It’s because of Laura that you’re here and—“

“Yes, Ma’am it is. I’m really sorry, I know this has been quite a shock for you. Would you mind answering a few questions for us?” 

“I’ve already spoken to those other two detectives, told them everything I know. Not that I know a lot—I mean, Laura was meant to meet me for brunch and was a no-show which really wasn’t like her at all, hence me calling. But—“ She seemed to deflate, running out of things to say almost in mid-sentence.

“Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt Ms Taylor, anyone she’s had a disagreement with lately?”

“God, no! Laura was so even-tempered! She never really argued with anyone—I mean, her local garage totally screwed up her car servicing and she ended up apologising to them! No, Laura was a really good person—I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her, not like this.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “She was a really good friend.”

“Was she seeing anyone that you know of?”

“No, Laura wasn’t really interested in dating. She had lots of friends but no lovers that I knew of. I’m sorry, I’m not being much use to you am I?”

“It’s fine—really, anything you can tell us.” Stiles and McCall spent some time pulling information out of Cora before passing her on to one of the patrolmen with instructions to see her safely home.

There was nothing left to do but assist Shaffer and Donald in tying up the loose ends—sacking up the trash to be gone through later; searching the house for any paperwork and personal papers that might fill in the victim’s recent schedule; basically searching for anything, however small, to link her to Anya Castle. It made sense: whatever the two women had in common was most likely to be the key to the killer. No detail could afford to be overlooked. 

Jonathan had left with the body and his meagre findings, there was nothing left to do here now. It was no longer a home—it was a crime scene, the gore on the walls and floor a gruesome tale all of its own.

Parrish’s face was set in lines of worry as he surveyed the outline of Taylor’s body on the floor. “Everyone in my office tomorrow morning at nine thirty,” he said. “For now, just get some rest.”

Stiles checked his watch, surprised to see that it was only just after one in the afternoon. It always surprised him how much the team could achieve in a short space of time—it had seemed like they had been there much longer.

“Are you going back to Derek’s?” McCall asked.

Stiles looked over at his partner, slightly surprised at the question. Just thinking about it clarified his thoughts: he wanted to go back to Derek’s; wanted to cuddle up with him on the couch and pretend the day was normal; wanted to sleep next to him without all of this bullshit hanging over their heads. 

“No, I don’t want to disturb him,” he said. “He’ll probably be asleep. Right?” 

“You really think so?” The sceptical look McCall was giving him made Stiles stop and think. He remembered the way Derek had looked when Stiles left, the sad, haunted expression back on his drawn face. God, Stiles hadn’t even kissed him goodbye he realised. His mind had already been on the murder scene and he had totally blocked Derek out. He was a complete and utter asshole and would consider himself lucky if Derek let him back into the house.

“Fuck,” he said tiredly.

McCall smiled and said “See you in the morning” and got into his car. Unless she was on shift, Allison Argent would probably still be waiting, Stiles thought. She was a cop too—she would totally understand McCall having to leave suddenly. But Derek wasn’t a cop. He was a man who held himself aloof, living a solitary existence; a man who had already borne more than his fair share of pain. There was no knowing whether he would even _speak_ to Stiles, let alone let him back in.

No, Derek wouldn’t be asleep or casually going about his day. He would be sitting on his couch, still and quiet, waiting for Stiles’ return. Stiles couldn’t even protect him from the gruesome aspects of his job—in this instance, Derek had had a front-row seat to the whole thing. He was an eyewitness, inside the killer’s mind, watching through his eyes from start to ugly finish.

Stiles drove quickly, the streets relatively empty. No doubt everyone was home, making the most of a quiet Sunday before returning to work on Monday. Jesus, he wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for what the next day would hold. He loved his job—loved the satisfaction it gave him when he did it well—but God, it wasn’t how he wanted to start his week.

He pulled into the driveway, parking behind and CR-V and turning off the engine. Before he’d stepped out of the car, the front door opened and Derek stood there, waiting for him. He was wearing black sleeping pants and a wife-beater and Stiles could see the outline of his body in the slim fitting clothing. Derek didn’t have to ask him how he was or what they’d found because he _knew_. 

Stiles suddenly wasn’t sure what he’d meant to do. Offer a shoulder for Derek to cry on? A listening ear maybe? Instead, their eyes locked as he walked towards the house, a deep lust flaring within him that took him by surprise with the depth of its hunger. Derek stepped back, allowing him over the threshold and he was vaguely aware of closing the door, locking it behind him. Their eyes remained locked as he followed Derek through the house, completely bypassing the living room and heading straight for the bedroom. 

“Derek, I’m sorry about the way I left—I have no excuse, I—“

“Sssh. Do you know one of the things I find most attractive about you, Stiles? That you give one hundred percent to what you do. You don’t think of me as weak, as some kind of damsel in distress—you were needed and you went. I hope—I _know_ you’d do the same thing for me and that’s more reassuring than all of the pecks on the cheek goodbye could ever mean.”

Stiles’ mouth gaped open at how easily Derek had understood what he was trying to say and he struggled to comprehend the other man’s words. It was true, he didn’t view Derek as a damsel in distress but that didn’t stop him from wanting to protect him. Perhaps he hid that better than he realised? He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall onto the chair beside the bed as Derek came to a stop in front of him.

“That’s more forgiving than I expected you to be.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just that kinda guy. Now get your clothes off—I’m gonna fuck you through the mattress and make you forget everything you’ve just seen.” The gruff words sent the fire inside him higher and with no other thought in his mind, Stiles did as he was told.


	33. Escalation...

Round and round the Mulberry bush. 

Christ, he should be feeling so satisfied right now—everything had gone completely according to plan. He lay panting on the bed, hand still at his groin. But he wasn’t—he could feel the hunger burning inside him already, almost as though the previous night hadn’t happened. 

He had to be careful—he knew he couldn’t afford to mess things up just because he felt needy. He didn’t want to have to relocate again—finding appropriate accommodation for Mother was always so difficult. 

**She** was always so difficult.

Just thinking of Mother made his thoughts sour and suddenly the night before might as well not have happened.

With a grimace of disgust, he threw the torn silk away from him and got up out of the bed. He was going to have to go hunting so much sooner than he had expected….


	34. Derek's turn to drive....

“Go do what you’ve got to—I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” Derek took a deep breath as Stiles did as instructed, still not sure that he could do this. But God, he wanted to. He wanted to take the defeated, haunted look off of Stiles’ face, he wanted to take care of him. He’d got the impression that Detective Stilinski didn’t let people take care of him very often.

Quickly, before he could talk himself out of it with nerves, he stripped off his clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket. Keeping half an ear out for Stiles’ progress, he pulled the duvet and sheets off the bed until there was nothing on it but the fitted sheet, four pillows, a tube of lube and a trio of condoms. He wasn’t kidding himself—he might have a mishap and didn’t want to have to go hunting for condoms. He was as ready as he could be. And just in time: the bathroom door opened and Stiles stepped out. He was still dressed in the shirt and pants, his bare feet looking long, pale and strangely vulnerable.

“Stay there.” He was surprised but pleased that his voice didn’t shake. Keeping eye contact, he climbed onto the bed and worked his way up to the pillows at the headboard, then lay down on his back, one arm folded under his head. “Take them off. Start with the shirt.” Stiles crossed his arms across his chest, hands grabbing the hem of his shirt where it fell over the front of his trousers. “Slowly. Unbutton it from the top.”

Derek struggled to keep his face neutral as Stiles did as instructed, long fingers fumbling slightly as he began to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. He looked oddly demure, his gaze cast down, eyelashes forming spidery long shadows on his cheeks as he undid each button carefully. He waited once the shirt was undone and Derek took a moment to admire him.

“Undo the cuffs.” Stiles obeyed, still looking down. “Leave the shirt. Undo your pants.” The intake of breath Stiles took was audible as he flicked open the button fastening on his pants before dragging down the zip. As he took the two sides of material in his hands, Derek changed his mind. “Don’t take them off. Take your cock out for me—show me how much you want me.” A deep flush appeared on Stiles’ cheeks and down his neck and Derek wanted to see how low it went on his chest. But not yet.

He held back a groan as Stiles delved into his pants and pulled out his erect cock, holding it in one hand like an offering to Derek. He licked his lips as he took it in: the solid length, rosy tip leaking. All for him. Because of him. Derek sat up abruptly, sliding to the edge of the bed until he was facing Stiles, legs spread apart.

“Feed it to me.”

“Jesus Derek!” Stiles groaned before stumbling forward the few steps needed to bring himself to the edge of the bed, between Derek’s legs. It felt strange that Stiles was almost fully dressed as he looked so _naked_. “I—“

“Don’t question – just do.” He leant forward until the soft skin of Stiles’ cock was mere millimetres away from his lips. “Feed me your cock Stiles.” Opening his mouth, Derek moved forwards and engulfed Stiles’ cock with his mouth, sliding down the thick length until he met the knuckles of Stiles’ hand with his lips. He closed his eyes, savouring the taste and smell of Stiles, the heavy warmth in his mouth, the hiccuping breath he could hear Stiles taking.

Sliding his mouth up and down slowly, he took hold of his own cock, squeezing the base to try to control his own excitement even as he ramped up Stiles’ own. He took Stiles deep once more and deliberately swallowed around the head, groaning deep in his throat as Stiles’ hand came to rest tentatively on the top of Derek’s head. Pulling off and looking up, he met Stiles’ hot gaze.

“You can hold my head—don’t come.” Stiles’ pupils were blown, mouth hanging open to take in panting breaths as he nodded in acknowledgement of Derek’s instructions. As soon as Stiles’ hand rested more firmly on his head, Derek returned his mouth to the erect cock in front of him, sliding it deep before starting a fast, hot rhythm. 

He couldn’t remember a single time when he had felt so completely in control of another person. He might be sat in a lower position to Stiles, with his fingers curled tightly in Derek’s hair, but there was no question as to who was in charge. It was a thrill, almost as exciting as the physical effects he was feeling from his head bobbing back and forth on Stiles’ length.

It was all too soon when Stiles’ grip tightened and he spoke haltingly. “Derek, I—please.” He took one more, long suck before pulling off reluctantly and sitting back.

“Take it all off and get on the bed.” He watched Stiles took a stumbling step backwards, palming his own erection as he watched Stiles throw off his shirt and toss it to the ground before shoving his pants and boxers down in one more. He stopped himself from getting up to help as Stiles’ tripped slightly on the material tangled around his legs, instead, allowing himself to look him up and down with admiring eyes as he finally kicked the pants away. 

Once Stiles joined him on the bed, it seemed like all restraint was gone. Pushing Stiles face-down, Derek lay on top of him, sucking and biting at the nape of Stiles’ neck whilst sweeping his hands up and down the lean, muscular body beneath him. It was thrilling how Stiles just let him do what he wanted—he wasn’t still by any means as he tried to get friction on his dick from the sheets. He was loud too, despite his voice being muffled by the pillow his face was planted in. But he didn’t try to wrest control from Derek; he moved wherever Derek wanted him to move—spreading his legs and seeming to enjoy the feel of Derek thrusting against the cheeks of his ass.

Derek realised he was talking almost constantly, praising the creamy smoothness of Stiles’ skin even as he brushed his stubble over it and caused it to redden. It was a stream of consciousness, every thought in his head escaping his mouth before he could even think to edit or modify it.

He moved down the bed, trailing kisses down Stiles’ spine as he did so, palming the rounded cheeks of his ass as he traced the moles dotted across Stiles’ back,

“Have I told you how much I love your ass? I love the way it looks even in those baggy jeans you wear? I love how your cheeks fill my hands and the dimples at the base of your spine that invite my kisses. I love seeing my marks on you, how your skin reddens and shows where I have kissed and where I have missed and need to go next. God, Stiles the things I want to do to you! I don’t know where half of these ideas have come from but it’s been like a porn movie playing in my head all damned day. How can I want you so much after such a short space of time?”

Pushing Stiles over onto his back, Derek continued worshipping his body. He traced the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, holding Stiles captive with the weight of his body trapping his legs; he teased at the delicately furred orbs with his lips and tongue even as his fingers traced a line down behind them, over the sensitive skin of Stiles’ taint, between the taut cheeks until his fingertips were pressing against the tightly furled pucker hidden from his view.

“Is this still okay?” Derek didn’t want to shatter the mood but he did want Stiles to know he always had a choice. 

“Hell yeah—more than!” Reassured, Derek reached for the lube and squeezed a liberal amount onto his fingertips before returning his hand to its previous position. He sucked gently at one of Stiles’ balls as he pressed and then gently pushed inside to where it was hot and silky smooth. He had never been inside someone else like this before and it blew what little control he had left.

He was aware of using two, three fingers; of scissoring them apart to stretch Stiles because he wanted to be _in_ there NOW; vaguely aware of rearing up and taking Stiles’ red-bitten lips in a deep passionate kiss, lying full length on top of him so that he could feel that beautiful skin from head to toe; Stiles seemed as needy as he himself felt, pushing Derek back and onto his knees and using the power of his abs to sit up and go to work on the condom.

“I—“

“Slippy fingers—easier if I do it!” And there was that cheeky grin even amidst this overwhelming passion and Derek found himself grinning back before hissing at the feel of Stiles’ hand on his cock. It was a close thing as the condom was rolled on, Stiles’ gripping Derek’s hard length in a firm grip as he slid his hand up and down to check the condom was secure. 

“You do that for much longer and we won’t need the condom anymore!” 

“Whoops! Sorry—just been thinking about getting my hands on you for hours so it’s kinda hard to let go!”

Derek brushed Stiles’ hand away, coating his latex-covered dick with more lube. He rested his hands on Stiles’ raised knees whilst he tried to figure out his next move.

“How do you want me?”

“I—I want to look at you but—“ Without him needing to finish his sentence, Stiles was once more flipping over onto his stomach, pulling his legs up to manoeuvre past Derek as he shuffled back to give him room. It made butterflies lurch in Derek’s stomach when Stiles’ instantly spread his legs again, leaning up only to shove a pillow underneath him so that his pelvis was tilted up, presenting his ass to Derek. “Jesus!”

“Have at it Big Guy!” It was the work of a moment to be between Stiles’ legs again, hands kneading and massaging the cheeks of his ass before pulling them gently apart and staring down at the glistening hole between them. Nerves threatened to take over and he looked up, catching Stiles’ gaze as the other man watched over his shoulder. “You won’t hurt me, Derek.” Stiles sounded so sure that Derek could do nothing but nod, then move his knees closer and position himself. 

He pushed with his hips, harder, harder until the head of his dick pushed through and he was once more experiencing that hot, silky smoothness but this time with his dick. It was more than he could ever have imagined as he slowly buried himself as deep as he could go. The blood was roaring in his ears, Stiles’ groan barely registering as he held himself still, trying to stop himself from coming straight away. 

“Is this—are you okay?” His voice sounded strained to his own ears, his eyes glued to where his body was joined to Stiles. It was surreal, seeing the tiny hole stretched around his hardness, the skin reddened, the cheeks clenching in his grip. 

“Fuck, you are definitely a big guy! Just gimme a sec—it’s been a while.” He wasn’t going to be able to hold back, it was too much for his body to take but he held off, counting backwards, trying to think of sports statistics, anything other than where he was and what he was doing. The tightness holding him eased and he looked up again. “Yeah—yeah, it’s good.” 

Derek wanted to be smooth, wanted to seduce Stiles with a slowly building rhythm that carried them both along but he knew there was no way it was going to happen. Not this time. He pulled out then pushed back in, again, again, hips jerky before he started to get into the rhythm of what he was doing. He shifted onto his knees slightly, a loud cry from Stiles making him realise he had managed to strike that hot-spot inside purely by accident. 

“Jesus, Stiles, you’re gonna have to—please, jerk yourself off—I can’t—“ Derek thanked all the Gods that Stiles seemed to speak fluent turned-on Derek as he instantly obeyed, shifting his hips up so that he could tuck his hand underneath his body and began stroking his own cock. Derek rolled his hips, trying to aim for that spot again and again—he could tell when his aim was true because Stiles’ groaned like he was being murdered, asshole tightening on Derek’s invading length more and more. Derek couldn’t seem to get deep enough, touch Stiles enough, the breath gasping from his lungs like he was running a marathon as the pleasure began to truly overwhelm him. “Stiles—“

“Yes, fucking, yes!” Like a tsunami crashing against land, his orgasm took him completely by surprise, rolling up his spine, shooting into his brain until he was sure he’d gone blind. All he could do was fuck Stiles harder, get as deep as possible as it all coalesced into a searing rush of heat through his bones before all of his muscles contracted and he came. In the middle of his own climax, he felt Stiles’ ass clench impossibly tight, a loud cry announcing that he too had come. It was all he could do not to collapse on top of Stiles, managing to shift slightly to one side as he slumped onto the bed. They lay in a tangled sweaty heap, gasping for breath for minutes. Derek managed to pull himself as gently as possibly out of the tight grip of Stiles’ ass, tugging off the condom, tying it off and tossing it to the side of the bed before collapsing once more. His head was fuzzy, his brain still off-line as Stiles’ turned his face towards him. The grin on that face should have warned him. “So, you don’t just look like a God, you fuck like one too!” 

Derek was almost too exhausted to laugh. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this - I had a bad week in terms of the vertigo and fell over at home and bashed my head pretty hard. I was finally allowed out on Thursday to go to the vets, where I promptly fainted. Yeah, not the best week ever!
> 
> Hopefully this chapter makes up for the wait.


	35. Task Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains homophobic slurs and language. If this offends, I suggest you read with caution. Thank you.

“Looks like you were playing bitch last night!” The snide comment greeted Stiles as he walked into the precinct and he scowled as he turned to face the man speaking to him.

“Fuck you Daehler—you’re a bitch all of the time and it’s got nothing to do with what toys you go to bed with!”

“Touchy, touchy! It must have something to do with the chunk of muscle I hear you’re seeing. Not like you to dip twice Stilinski—this one got a magic dick or something?” Daehler got right up into Stiles’ face, a sneer in his voice and twisting his thin lips.

“What the hell would you know about it? I wouldn’t go near you with the diseased dick of a warthog so where I do or don’t go is none of your damned business.” Stiles went to turn away, determined not to spoil his good mood. 

“So the rumours about you and the mind reader aren’t true then?”

Stiles froze. “What did you say?” 

“That crazy ass psychic who was here—is it true you’re nailing him? Brave, dude—he could be crawling around in your brain! That would creep me the fuck out!”

Like a red tide, the need to defend Derek overrode his common sense and Stiles found himself turning back and forcing Daehler to back up to the wall.

“Shut your God-damn mouth before I shut it for you!”

“What, can’t take the truth? Or scared it’ll get out that you’ve resorted to fucking the crazies now?” Daehler didn’t get to say anything further as Stiles shoved him hard, taking angry pleasure in the sound of Matt’s head bouncing off the wall. He stood so close he could see where Daehler had missed spots shaving.

“I swear to God, Daehler, you say one more word and I will _fuck_ you up!”

“STILINSKI!” Parrish’s voice rang out across the precinct, almost enough in itself to bring Stiles back to himself. Scott came through the door, taking the situation in quickly because he grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and steered him away from Daehler’s obviously shaking frame. 

“Come on buddy, no matter what he said he’s not worth it.” Stiles allowed Scott to guide him through the bullpen to the Captain’s office, avoiding the looks from the other detectives. Yukimura caught his gaze and gave him a sympathetic smile which he returned on autopilot—no one could ignore Kira’s smiles—she was one of the good ones.

“What the hell Stilinski?” 

“Sorry Captain—Daehler just needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, we all have our issues but we’ve got more important things to be doing this morning. Get in here.”

Stiles and McCall followed Captain Parrish into his office. Stiles was surprised to see Chief Harris was already there, looking as sour as always. Obviously, it was time to keep his head down and try to rein in his temper. He didn’t know why he had let Daehler get to him—normally he let that shit slide off his back, but hearing that douche-canoe describe Derek as a crazy had really lit his temper. He hated that Derek had no doubt been dealing with that type of crap for most of his life and all from people who didn’t understand what he went through and dealt with. It was sickening.

Shaffer and Donald came trooping into the office, followed by Yukimura and Tate who normally tended to work the late shift—they had obviously been called in to attend the meeting. 

“Right, I take it everyone is up to date on what we’re dealing with?” Parrish settled behind his desk with Harris sitting to one side and scowling at them all equally. 

“The report from the Medical Examiner came through. Jonathan’s confirmed that everything points to the same perp in both cases. He states both victims were raped—perp used a condom or blunt instrument as no DNA present in either case. Multiple stab wounds leading to massive blood loss, speaks to a ferocious attack. Interestingly, the M.E. is saying the perp has a shorter than average arm span for a man and is estimating height as between five foot six and six foot, definitely no taller.” Donald shut his notebook as he finished talking.

“Anything from our source?” Parrish looked directly at Stiles who pulled himself together and opened his own notepad.

“At this point in time, just the details as previously provided. We’ll keep on it, make sure if anything else surfaces that the information is disseminated. Based on the fury of the attack, we’re potentially looking at an escalation so will be being vigilant this coming Friday.”

“What—you’re expecting him to strike again so soon?” Harris sounded horrified. 

“Potentially. Two such attacks in a short space of time implies the perp is spiralling out of control and/or escalating. We need to be ready.” McCall piped up.

“How do we get ready for this? How do I take this to City Hall?” Stiles’ lip curled—Harris was worried about City Hall when they were possibly talking about someone’s life? Cold hearted bastard.

“Despite the escalation, we feel it would be precipitous to take this to City Hall. A small localised task force in the first instance, combing through the evidence we have would probably be more advantageous.” Harris considered Parrish’s words, more than obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to take this to the Councillors as yet. “I want to assign these three teams of detectives in the first instance. McCall and Stilinski are taking lead, with Donald, Shaffer, Yukimura and Tate backing them up. We were very lucky with the last crime scene—that reminds me, I want to involve Mahealani in this groundwork as he’s shown initiative and quick thinking.” Several nods of agreement came from the group.

“Captain, I’d like to make an unusual request if I may?” Stiles had been thinking about this since earlier that morning and had broached the subject with Derek.

“Go ahead Stilinski.”

“I’d like to allow our source access to the latest crime scene. It’s still incredibly fresh and we might gain valuable intel.”

“Are we talking about this damned psychic? I’m not sure I’m with you on this Jordan—a _psychic_?” To Stiles’ surprise, it was Malia who answered the Chief.

“Based on what I’ve read, that _damned_ psychic has got us a head-start on this whole thing.” Stiles looked at Malia, pleased but surprised at her defence of Derek. She was known for being a quiet person, seeming to show her loyalty to her partner Yukimura and giving no fucks about anyone else. It was disquieting normally but at least you knew where you stood. 

“He made it possible for the M.E. to have a pristine crime scene—warning Dispatch that a fatal stabbing could come in meant they, in turn, could give patrol a head’s up. Who knows if Mahealani would have been as fast acting if they hadn’t been warned?” That came from Shaffer, with Donald nodding along in agreement.

“Noted, but even so—“ Harris huffed.

“Did you read the stuff this guy has been through? I saw just a couple of reports from Philly—“

“I spoke to an old colleague of mine who’s worked with him in the past. Guy’s a complete sceptic but he had nothing but good to say—“

“I think he’s more than proved his worth to us, especially—“ That was Scott, semi rising out of his chair as he prepared to go to bat against Harris. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re all believers. Fine—on your heads be it. Parrish, keep me up to date—I agree about a task force and will hold off on informing the Council for now.” Harris abruptly got to his feet. “I don’t know if you’re all crazy but it’s on you to find this guy. We are not going to terrify the city with a serial killer.” Before any of them could respond or say anything at all, Harris had stomped out of the office.

“Okay, Stilinski, do you think this visiting the crime scene could work?" Parrish spoke into the silence. 

“I spoke to Derek this morning. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to pick up anything but he’s willing to try.” It was Stiles who wasn’t sure about the idea—yes, he’d raised it in the first place but that didn’t mean he was 100% behind it.

“Then go ahead. Tate, Yukimura, grab Mahealani and go through the cases we pulled out that might be our guy, see if you can find anything. Shaffer, Donald, I want you canvassing the neighbours and also going through Taylor’s last movements. We need to find the connection between her and Castle.” Parrish ticked things off on the list in front of him as he spoke. “Stilinski, McCall—arrange this visit. Let’s keep a lid on this—we don’t want it to become common knowledge that we have Hale working with us. Right, everybody has their assignments and I want some concrete feedback by Wednesday afternoon. Yes?”

The whole team nodded and began to gather their things together so that they could leave. 

“Stilinski, McCall, stay behind please.” Stiles took his seat again, sharing a look with McCall as everyone else filed out of the office. Parrish closed the door behind them and resumed his seat.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

“Who, me?” Stiles pointed at his own chest, stalling for time.

“Actually, both of you.” Parrish looked from one to the other. “Who wants to go first?” McCall went pale under his naturally brown skin.

“Umm, why do I get the feeling you already know?”

“About—?” Parrish’s face gave nothing away. Stiles squared his shoulders.

“Fuck it. Captain, I need to inform you that I am cohabiting with our witness Derek Hale. This will in no way impede or obstruct our investigation, but I understand if you want to remove me from the case.” The sense of relief was huge and Stiles hadn’t realised how much it had been bothering him. Derek wasn’t a secret—dirty or otherwise.

“Stilinski, if I thought this was just over a casual piece of ass—“

“No, sir, definitely not. However stupendous the ass—“

“Not the time!”

“Sorry sir! No, this isn’t a fling—I wouldn’t risk our case for something over nothing.”

“Okay, duly noted. I don’t think we need to remove you from the case but I reserve the right to revisit the situation if the need arises. McCall?” 

“Huh?” McCall still looked pale. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” Parrish looked squarely at McCall.

“I—I think that yeah, there is something. As per department regulations, I need to inform you that I am seeing a fellow officer based at our precinct. It’s Allison Argent, sir.”

“Ongoing relationship?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. Fill in the requisite paperwork to ensure you don’t handle the same cases. Make sure it’s all present and accounted for. We don’t want any accusations of harassment—make sure Argent does the same, please. You’re dismissed.”

“That’s it? No bollocking? No, _don’t shit where you eat_ McCall?” Stiles couldn’t stop himself from interjecting.

“No Stilinski, although if you like I could arrange for a bollocking for you—perhaps over the entire Daehler debacle this morning?” Stiles jumped out of his seat, heading for the door.

“Nope, nope, not needed. Thank you very much, Captain. We’ll be off—on your feet Scott.” Obviously still in a state of some shock, McCall allowed himself to be chivvied out of the office and moved towards the break room. “You still breathing dude?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just—I’m not sure what I expected him to say. And—“

“And?”

“I didn’t realise that things were serious enough that I needed to inform the department.” They entered the break room together and Stiles noted there was no-one else in there.

“Scotty, Scotty, when will you learn to listen to me?”

“Stiles, don’t bullshit me—you weren’t ready to tell him about you and Derek either.”

“Maybe not.” Stiles turned away from his friend and partner and began making coffee for both of them. “Just remember the rule of thumb dude.”

“What?” Scott took the cup Stiles handed to him, taking a tentative sip of the hot brew.

“They say you should spend a month’s salary. With all the money you have in the bank, you might want to go a little bit higher than that.” Stiles held off on taking a drink, waiting for his partner to catch on to what he was saying. He was rewarded by a splutter as McCall’s coffee obviously went down the wrong way as well as splashing out of his mug, landing on his pristine tie.

“Fuck you Stiles—I should have let you get in trouble for hitting Daehler!” Stiles just laughed as he headed out of the small room, good humour restored at Scott’s shocked face. Time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. More ill health. Bad news work-wise. Stress, stress and more stress. But this chapter just flew once I sat down to try and write so here you go - have some more police procedural crap!


	36. Family and Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like things are speeding up now - keep an eye out for updates! (Watch me disappear for months now, lmao!!")

“Took your own sweet time visiting.” 

“I’m sorry Marmee—I wasn’t up to it last time and things have been hectic.” Derek sank into the soft cushions of the sofa, facing his mother and waiting for the cat invasion. It wasn’t long before three cats came slinking into the room, each of them swiping his mother with a tail, a flank or a cheek on their way to him on the sofa. 

Drake, a large jet black Tom, jumped up next to him and began grooming; Breezy, a tuxedo cat that was surprisingly long and heavy ignored the seat cushions and landed directly in Derek’s lap, demanding scritches by head-butting Derek on the chin. Rhi-rhi, the only female, was so shaggy she could have been a Maine Coon if it wasn’t for her small stature, completely ignored him apart from throwing judgemental looks in his direction from her position along the back of the sofa. Life as usual then.

“So, how have you been? And what’s going on with this Detective? Lydia meets him but you don’t bring him to meet your mother?” 

“No fair—Lydia met him by accident, not design. And he’s busy with this case. I promise, as soon as he’s caught this guy and got some free time, I’ll bring him round for interrogation and inspection.”

Marmee laughed. “Glad you’re not trying to deny he’s _yours_. You’ve got that well laid look about you—about damned time if you ask me.”

“Marmee!”

“What? Oh please—Boyd and Erica are damned near re-enacting every page of the karma sutra in the bedroom down the hall from me every night; Lydia’s got some new stud on her mind—stupid name like Whitmore or Whittle-something; hey, even I’m making time with that gentleman at the Games Store who gives me a discount on the latest games! Was about time you made proper use of that body God gave you!” 

“Oh my God!” 

“Is he good to you? And I’m not talking about the bedroom!” 

“Yes—yeah, he—I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. He knows what happens, obviously; knows some of what I can do but it’s like it’s just another part of my personality. He doesn’t really question it or look at me differently because of it.”

“Hmmm.” Derek sat still, making no effort to hide from his mother’s scrutiny. Finally, she seemed happy with whatever she saw in his face. “He ever hurt you—and I mean **ever** —and I’ve got friends who’ll help me hide the body, no questions asked. And I wanna meet him soon as. Not having Lydia gloating about it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. We playing or what? No point you being here if we aren’t going to play.”

“Yeah, we’re playing although why I bother I don’t know. You and your band of cut-throats always leave me for dead anyway.” Shoving Breezy off his lap gently, Derek stood up. “Hey Marmee, do you have any spare epi-pens?”

She stopped in the middle of setting up the PlayStation 4, face creased in a frown as she thought. 

“Bathroom cabinet upstairs has my spares. Not been stung this summer, thank God, but I always keep some on hand. Why? What are you needing an epi-pen for?”

“Not sure. I just feel like maybe it’s a good idea to have one to hand.” Derek frowned, unable to shake off the feeling. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m not leaving you short?”

“Help yourself, honey. I’ll get this setup.” Marmee turned back to the console and large television. “Don’t forget to touch base with Dr Deaton—might be worth a few tests, make sure that brain of yours isn’t going to explode or nothing.”

“Ha ha, very cheerful! Thanks—I’ll be right back down and you can school me on the new weapons I know you got from that expansion pack.” Derek smirked at the guilty look on her face. “Don’t worry, I didn’t expect you to wait for me before using them—I know how you like your big guns.”

“I’ll big guns you, you cheeky so and so! You’re not too old to go across my knee.” Still chuckling, Derek headed upstairs to the bathroom, ignoring as best he could the prickly feeling that told him to do this in the first place.

* * *

“The only link we’ve found so far is a garage down-town. Both victims had their vehicles in for a service at Greenberg and Sons. We’ve had a quick talk with the owner, asked about their employees but no one jumps out. No real matches to the profile from a cursory glance.” Shaffer looked fed up, her feet in Donald’s lap as he ignored all of them to eat his sandwich.

“You went down there and saw them all?” Stiles wiped his mouth and took another gulp of his soda. 

“Not yet—wasn’t sure whether you and McCall would want to do that.” Donald’s voice was slightly muffled by the bite of food he’d just taken.

“Dude, say it don’t spray it!” Scott exclaimed, using his napkin to wipe at his tie. Stiles snickered, quite proud of the coffee stain that McCall hadn’t managed to completely erase.

“Excuse my partner—he has less manners than my twelve-year-old.” Shaffer reached forward and slapped Donald on the shoulder before resuming her position. “Any luck sorting out visiting the crime scene?”

“I’m calling Derek after this to arrange it. When we spoke earlier, we did say this afternoon would be an optimum time, keep the momentum going.”

“Makes sense.” McCall nodded in agreement. “Do we know how Tate and Kira got on going through those files?” Stiles looked over at Donald and Shaffer. 

“Still going through. Kira did say at a rough estimate, they’re hitting similarities in a good 20% of cases. Seems like a guy who’s kept himself busy.” Donald looked like the idea brought him little to no satisfaction, even though it would be easier to create a working profile with more cases to compare.

“Quite a few of them are out of our jurisdiction, which could be why they haven’t been connected before now.” Shaffer frowned. “How come Hale didn’t sense these ones?”

“Could be a lack of proximity. Either our guy went out of town to do his kills or only moved here recently. That might come in handy for the profile.” Finishing his soda, Stiles chewed on the straw for a moment. “It’s not unheard of for serial killers to take a break—whether because they’re inside doing time or under fewer stressors. Do we think it’s worth looking further back?” 

“Might not be a bad idea, although we don’t want to open the parameters up too much, create too big a pool of suspects.” Satisfied that he had done the best with his tie that he could, McCall crumpled up the debris from his lunch and dumped it into the trash can next to his desk.

“We sending this off for a profile or knocking one up of our own?”

“I’m happy to have first try but I think sending it to Quantico might not be a bad idea. Besides, it makes the Feds feel useful if we ask them for assistance, always worth creating some goodwill.”

“That’s so Machiavellian of you Stiles—your dad would be so proud!”

“Why thank you Tina—and you can stop sending him those cookies anytime you’re ready! I know about you two!” Shaffer blushed.

“You ready Stiles? Should we collect Derek or ask him to meet us there?” Scott got to his feet and shrugged into his suit jacket, shaking his shoulders slightly until the jacket sat correctly. 

“I guess call him and make the offer. He said something about visiting his mother so he might prefer to drive himself and meet us there.”

“Drive himself or you not ready to meet your new mother-in-law yet Stilinski?” Donald let out a surprised shout of laughter at Shaffer’s comment, then once more hid his face in his food. 

“Hey, I’m ready—it’s Derek that’s hesitating!” And with that snappy comment, Stiles headed towards the bathrooms before anyone could mention the flush in his cheeks. He **was** ready to meet Derek’s mother and it was freaking him out how much it _wasn’t_ freaking him out. Go figure.

Meeting McCall at their departmental vehicle, Stiles threw him the keys and let himself into the passenger side. He dialled Derek’s number and didn’t have to wait long for a response.

“Hey, Derek, it’s Stiles. The Captain went for the idea so we thought the sooner the better. Are you still up for it?” 

“Stiles. Yes sure, we can do that.” In the background, Stiles could hear the faint sounds of gunfire and profanities peppering the air, audible over the sound of McCall’s driving. “Have I called at a bad time?”

“No—Marmee is just cursing me out for leaving my post unattended and causing the squad to lose an ambush.” There was a loud cackling laugh and Stiles found himself smiling involuntarily. He liked the thought of Derek growing up with someone who laughed that fully. “Just text me the address and I should be there within thirty minutes.”

“Okay, cool. Apologise to your mother for me—you know, about costing any lives.” 

“You say that like it’s a joke—this bunch take their Call of Duty very seriously.”

“Call of Duty? Which console—I might be up for giving your mother a game. I’ll even take it easy on her.” Derek laughed, a full-bodied, throaty sound that made Stiles’ groin tighten. 

“I think I’ll let you make that invitation—then any bloodshed isn’t on my head.”

“Whatever you say, Babe.”

“See you shortly.”

“Yep.” Ending the call, Stiles texted the address as requested, then turned to find McCall giving him looks. “What?”

“You seem remarkably sanguine about this whole thing. What happened to you saying a sad farewell to the dog days of your bachelorhood?”

“Nothing to be nervous about I guess. I could pretend I don’t feel the way I feel but who would I be fooling?”

“I feel that comment is pointed in my direction and refuse to answer on the grounds that we’re here.” Stiles laughed at the smug look on McCall’s face, letting himself out of the now stationary vehicle and having a good stretch. There was still a lot of police tape around, the small amount of grass in front of the house showing signs of having being trampled by numerous police personnel. Apart from that the area was quiet, birdsong and the distant hum of traffic the only real noise.

“You almost wouldn’t believe what happened in this place. It’s so peaceful and quiet.” Stiles turned in a circle, observing everything. 

“Yeah, one of those good neighbourhoods where the crime rate is low and you move to bring up the 2.5 kids.”

“You thinking about kids already McCall? This morning you hadn’t decided how much to spend on an engagement ring and now you’re deciding where to bring up little Stiles and Stilina?”

“Why the hell would I call my kids Stiles and Stilina?!” Scott giggled.

“And why not? They’re both perfectly good names if you ask me!”

“You are such a dick sometimes I could—“ Stiles didn’t hear what Scott could do as Derek’s car turned the corner and pulled up outside the carport. He admired the sleek lines of Derek’s body as he climbed out of the vehicle. Stiles had left for work before Derek had gotten dressed that morning so he hadn’t gotten to see his outfit, something he heavily regretted now. 

Derek was in dark grey jeans with rips at the knees, worn lighter down his muscled thighs and around the button fly. He was wearing a dark olive Henley, tight across the chest, with a small sprinkling of hair peeking out of the open vee neck. He hadn’t shaved, dark stubble decorating his cheeks, chin and upper neck. It looked soft and inviting and Stiles wondered whether it was crisp, bristly or soft. Derek’s face looked relaxed, as though the visit to his mother had been a good one: his eyes were clear and bright, a slight crinkling at the corners as he spotted Stiles watching him and smiled. His hair was a tousled casual mess, dark waves going every which way on his head, the white blond streak visible. He looked sexy as fuck and Stiles had to take a moment to adjust himself as Derek made his way over. 

“Is there anywhere I should avoid walking?” 

“Hey Derek, thanks for coming.”

“Sorry, yes, good to see you again Detective McCall.”

“Please, seriously, call me Scott.”

“Okay, Scott. Sorry, I’m a bit nervous. It’s been a while since I visited a crime scene.” Derek came to a stop next to Stiles, wiping his hands down the front of his jeans in a nervous gesture. 

“Hey Babe—please, don’t worry. We wouldn’t let you be here if there was a risk you could contaminate the scene.” 

“Okay, if you’re sure.” They moved to the front door and Stiles took out the keys and unlocked the house. 

“Take your time, walk where you need to—Scott and I will be right by the door if you need us.” He encouraged Derek into the house with a palm at the base of his spine, silently offering his support. The trio stepped into the house, closing the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not to disappear. Writing this is actually doing a lot for my brain. Finding the words, structuring it all - definitely helping me feel like I am getting back to normal.


	37. Expected and Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter today so if you haven't read chapter called 'Family and Friends' go back one!

He should have expected the phone call but it had put the wind up him. 

Nevertheless.

The police officer he had spoken to, a Detective Chris Donald, had been courteous and thorough, asking about Anya Castle and Laura Taylor, if there was anything unusual he could remember. He’d stuttered slightly in his response, so much so that he’d had to put the Officer through to the garage owner, David Greenberg. 

Even then, Donald had been polite, accepting that it was upsetting news to hear that two of their clients had been murdered.

It felt close, though. He just wasn’t sure if it was too close. 

He flicked over the television station in the garage’s waiting room attention caught by a live news feed.

Son of a bitch.


	38. Revisiting the Crime Scene

It was so quiet. Derek wasn't sure what he'd been expecting—maybe residual energy from the killer?—but instead it was almost _peaceful_.

He walked slowly around the room, deliberately avoiding the multitude of blood stains soaked into the carpet. His fingers gently caressed the walls as he traced the pattern in the wallpaper, straining to sense something. Anything.

He wanted to be of help to Stiles, prove his usefulness. He **needed** to help Laura. She hadn't deserved to die. Not the way she had. 

"Derek?"

"It's alright—I'm just—learning the space," Derek turned to see Stiles hovering in the doorway, obviously concerned.

"Okay, just, no freaky stuff if you can help it."

"I thought we brought him here for the freaky stuff?" Scott interjected, sounding confused.

"Okay, no _dangerous_ freaky stuff then." Stiles sounded exasperated and Derek hid a smile.

"I'll do my best. Now, for once in your life, be quiet." Stiles mimed zipping his lips shut, winked at Derek and stepped back out of the living room.

Derek closed his eyes and opened the door in his mind, allowing his gift complete freedom for the first time since it had returned. He felt like he was surrounded by a rainbow of colour, all mangled together and confused. It took him a moment to realise each of the colours seemed to represent a type of person—that each had left an imprint on the room.

He began to peel away the layers of colour: the top layer was blue and represented police personnel; the golden glow was friends and family, the warmth of yellow mirroring affection and love; a cool green seemed to represent casual visitors; orange, a wary looking colour, was for strangers and callers who were not familiar to the household. Only two colours remained: white and black. Derek didn't want to touch the black—he didn't want it anywhere near him, which meant it was the killer.

The white then.

He let it envelop him, slow pieces of information of Laura Taylor seeping into his consciousness: her love for life and constant laughter; her satisfaction with what she was achieving in her life; her lingering fear and confusion at what had happened; and finally, a need for peace. She couldn't rest yet—she needed this to be brought to a conclusion before she could rest. Her presence was peaceful and trusting, giving Derek the strength he needed to do what he had to do.

He let the sense of Laura drift away, took a deep breath and opened himself to the blackness.

Rage and hatred battered at him, some pushing outwards but so much of it internalised. This person _hated_ themselves so much it was terrifying. There was confusion too, not about what was happening but about themselves—Laura's presence had had a strong sense of self despite her death—this presence seemed to be _lost_.

Ignoring his revulsion, Derek opened himself up further, allowing himself to fall deeper into the darkness. Before his eyes, a hazy fog grew until he could see the large television was on, playing some stupid horror movie. He was stood behind the sofa, looking at the back of Laura Taylor's head, a knife gleaming in his hand. No—he wasn't going to experience this again—he refused to experience it in a more intimate manner than he had already suffered. With a strength of will alone, he pushed at the darkness to move ahead, to not linger on the unsavoury attack. Somehow, the vision jumped and he was looking down at Laura Taylor's dead body, her unseeing eyes staring back at him as he looked at her lifeless face.

He stepped back from the body, looking up to see his reflection in the large mirror. His hands were tacky with blood and he reached down and grabbed the bottom to her pyjamas, wiping his hands clean. Almost absently, he picked up the pyjama top and made his way to the bathroom. It smelled of her shower gel and shampoo, the atmosphere still slightly fogged from her earlier shower. He dropped the pyjamas into the laundry basket, then changed his mind. The top was almost completely clear of blood, but the bottoms were smeared with red, his hand-prints plain to see. He'd have to take them with him—not something he normally did, taking souvenirs.

Back to the living room to enjoy the scene he and Laura had created together before giving a satisfied nod and turning towards the front door.

"For God's sake, Derek, will you talk to me!"

Shaking his head, Derek opened his eyes and focused on Stiles who had his hands on Derek's shoulders, shaking him back and forth, eyes wild with concern. Over his shoulder, Derek could see the concern and confusion mirrored on Scott's face.

"I'm okay, I'm OKAY" Grabbing at Stiles' wrists, Derek managed to get him to look him in the eyes. "Calm down Stiles."

"Calm down? Derek, you've been wandering around the place in some kind of God-damn fugue state, acting out God knows what! What in the actual Hell?"

"Stiles, I was there." Derek tried to make him understand,

"I know, Babe, but—"

"No, I mean just now—I was there!" Shouting finally got Stiles to stop the babbling.

"Oh my God, that's fucking horrendous! I'm so sorry—I asked you to do this—"

"You don't understand—he stood up and looked in the mirror."

"So?" That was Scott, stepping forward, looking confused.

"He looked in the mirror at himself—and I was him. I saw him—Stiles, I saw his face!"

"Holy shit!"

* * *

“I rang Greenberg and Sons—they still haven’t sent over their personnel records.” Shaffer looked over at Donald, a frown on her face. The garage seemed to literally be the only link between their two victims so they needed to check it out thoroughly.

“There’s still time if we want to shoot down there—get them ourselves. McCall and Stilinski are still out with our ‘seer’ so it makes sense for us to go.” Donald stood up eagerly and grabbed his jacket.

“Yeah, makes sense. And nothing to do with the shy receptionist you spoke to, the one with the husky voice?” Shaffer teased even as she turned off her computer and pulled on her own jacket.

“Strictly professional I’ll have you know. Seems like enough people are dipping into the witness pool. Although, it never hurts to look”. Donald smiled, looking only a little embarrassed at his confession of interest.

“I don’t know why you go for the shy ones but who am I to stand in the way of a potential love connection. You do you honey.”

“I’ll let McCall know”. Donald sent a text from his cell phone as they made their way out of the precinct.

* * *

“Jesus Christ.” Derek felt like every hair on his body was standing on end, confused images and impressions racing through his mind. 

“Actually, I know I’m going to sound like I’m out of mind—in fact, probably sound absolutely batshit crazy in fact, but—“

“But what?” Stiles’ tone was sharp with interest.

“Never mind. I just—I don’t know. God” He frowned, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order. “His head is shaved—he doesn’t have proper eyebrows, almost like they’re tattooed on? His face is almost feminine looking in appearance—finely boned I guess people would describe it as. He seems slight in build, not as tall as me. Dark eyes—maybe brown? Thinnish nose?” 

Stiles had written down everything his said. “We need to get you in with a police sketch artist. This is fucking huge, Derek—I cannot believe what you’ve managed to do here.” Shoving his notebook into his jacket pocket, he cupped Derek’s face in his hands, his excitement obvious. “If we weren’t surrounded by a gruesome crime scene, I would kiss you.”

“Please don’t—seriously, save the romance for somewhere minus the blood stains please.” Suddenly Derek felt drained and all he wanted to do was leave. The house was cold despite the warmth of the day and he just wanted to get out of there. Both he and Stiles turned as Scott spoke.

“I just heard from Tate and Yukimura—some of the victims had recently had work done on their cars—some servicing, some problems. Whatever. They’re tracking down details of where the victims went for their repairs, trying to see if there’s a link. And Shaffer and Donald are just going to Greenberg and Sons to grab the personnel records—we could have a pretty serious string to pull here.” Scott was obviously trying to be professional but was also excited. Derek could understand their excitement but all he felt was tired—the thought of how long he might have to spend with the police sketch artist made him feel weary to the bone.

“You ready to go?” He nodded and Stiles’ hand was a welcome warmth on Derek’s shoulder as he allowed himself to be steered towards the front door. Scott stepped out first and began cursing but Derek was momentarily blinded by the late afternoon sun, stumbling out of the house as what felt like a multitude of flashes went off and they were suddenly faced with unknown people rushing towards them.

“I’m Theo Raeken with TW Daily News,” a young man said. “We have learned that our very own police department is using a psychic called Derek Hale to aid in the capture of a serial killer they have taken to calling the Friday Slasher. Are you Derek Hale?” Then a fat, black microphone was shoved into Derek’s face.

He felt completely stunned as he took in the lean, fashionably dressed young man in front of him, then the burly shorts-clad man who stood behind him, an expensive looking digital camera capturing everything. There was a van with the station’s logo emblazoned across the side parked behind Derek’s car and a crowd of neighbours had gathered, obviously drawn by the television crew. Stiles seemed to snap out of his stasis, roughly shouldering in front of Raeken.

“I’m Detective Stilinski”, he snapped. “You’re behind the police line. You need to leave—now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek could see Scott talking rapidly into his cell phone.

The tenacious Mr Raeken sidestepped Stiles and once more pushed the microphone into Derek’s face. “Are you the psychic?”

A confusing flurry of images hit Derek. He couldn’t read Stiles: his mental shields were too strong. But Theo Raeken, ambitious and slightly nervous, was no match for Derek’s growing abilities. Derek didn’t even have to try; the truth was broadcast at him in deafening waves.

Shock hit him in the pit of his stomach and he almost choked as the bile of betrayal rose to his throat. It was possible that someone else had leaked the news of his involvement but how likely was it? And as far as he knew, only he, Scott and Stiles had known where he would be at this precise time. 

He felt cold, icy cold, and suddenly completely alone. He carefully arranged his face into a stoic mask and turned to look at Stiles. He was wearing a grim expression, his eyes narrow and fierce as he returned Derek’s gaze. Derek could barely breathe as he tried to read Stiles’ expression as he put his hand over the microphone.

“You. Set. Me. Up.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth to the man he was pretty sure he loved; the man he had thought might just love him; the man who had more than likely just used and betrayed him in the worst possible way.


	39. Press Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear in mind that I stopped watching Teen Wolf after Derek 'evolved' and rode off into the sunset with Braden, so I never actually watched Theo Raeken so his character may be completely wrong. 
> 
> And as this is a complete AU, as you may have sussed, characters are not always the way they are in the show. 
> 
> More to come...

Stiles was still frozen in shock at Derek's accusation to do or say anything and found himself flanking Derek as he turned the full force of his charm onto Theo Raeken.

"Yes, I'm Derek Hale." Derek had completely turned towards the reporter, appearing to block Stiles out of his thoughts entirely. Theo Raeken made absolutely no secret of his fascination with Derek, sliding as close as he could get which caused Stiles' hackles to rise even further.

"Mr Hale, is it true you've been working with our police department to help them locate the killer?"

"Yes." The one word was clipped to Stiles' ears but Raeken didn't seem to pick up on Derek's inner fury. Stiles tried to step forward to block the camera but Derek deftly shouldered him out of the way. Raeken continued speaking.

"In what way have you aided the police, Mr Hale?"

"I gave them a description of the killer." Raeken looked shocked and then pleased, obviously seeing his little story get bigger before his very eyes.

"How did you do that? How do you know what he looks like? Did you have a psychic vision?" The questions almost ran together, Raeken obviously excited. 

Once again, Stiles tried to intervene, this time being less subtle as he was really not happy with the direction the interview was taking. There was no way in Hell he wanted the focus on Derek – this needed to stop and it needed to stop now. The look on Derek's face as he turned and faced Stiles briefly stopped him in his tracks, the sheer loathing and fury so clear that Stiles recoiled from it.

"Something like that. I know the killer in a way that no one else does. And believe me, it's not a vision or dream – this person is more of a nightmare. Weak willed, lazy, ugly and worthless, he attacks women to try to make himself feel better about his own inadequacies."

"That's enough!" Stiles roared, pushing the camera down and away and grabbing Derek's arm with the other hand, his fingers biting into the firm muscles of Derek's biceps. "You people leave the scene now. We have back up on the way and if anyone is still here when they arrive, they will find themselves under arrest for trespassing and obstruction of justice."

"You heard it here exclusively--the TW Daily News is live at the latest murder scene and we have confirmed that there **is** a serial killer at large. The police are working with renowned psychic, Derek Hale, who disappeared nearly six years ago after he was involved in the capture and subsequent death of a former serial killer, Gerard Argent." Raeken spoke directly into the camera and Stiles finally realised that it was a live interview. Goddamit, there was no way to stop it being broadcast now, and Derek had very deliberately put himself on the killer's radar. 

Still holding firmly to his arm, Stiles hustled Derek over to where his car was parked, relieved when two patrol cars turned up so he could stop thinking about the news crew and the crowd. 

"What the hell were you doing?" He looked over his shoulder quickly to make sure that they weren't being filmed, pleased to see Scott was in the process of confiscating the film equipment.

"What you obviously wanted me to do," Derek replied bitterly. "Attracting the killer's attention, dragging him out of hiding. Wasn't that the point?"

Stiles shook his head in angry frustration. "You can't really think I tipped off the press that you were here?"

Derek gave him a scathing look, lips pressed together in an angry line.

"Jesus, Derek, do you not trust me _at all_?" Stiles couldn't hide the hurt in his voice and he took a step back, running his hands through his hair, "Fuck this shit – is that what your _really_ think of me?"

"I don't **KNOW** you! So what, you've been a bit more honest about wanting to 'fuck the freak' so I should suddenly think you're some stand-up guy? What was it Stiles--you decide to literally throw me a bone so that I'd be more amenable to your plans? Besides, this way you can stop worrying about me trying to read your mind through your thick skull. And hey, now you can be certain is attention is on me--no worries about a repeat of six years ago, right? Don't tell me, you're going to keep me safe?" The fear in Derek's face, the tears glistening in his eyes made Stiles' heart clench. He wanted to reassure Derek, do anything to take that look off his face, but they had run out of time. 

"I swear to you, Derek, this wasn't me. And I will prove it to you. In the meantime, this officer will take you home." As he spoke, he gestured to the patrol-man who had made his way over to them, obviously trying to be discreet but failing abysmally. "Name?" 

"Officer Ennis, sir." The patrol-man was huge and almost brutish-looking, but his tone was respectful. 

"Officer Ennis, I need you to ensure Mr Hale gets home safely and keep watch until you're relieved."

"And it doesn't matter what I want?" Derek looked mulish but Stiles refused to engage any further.

"Ennis can ride with you or he can follow – either way, you're getting police protection while we try to sort out this shit-show. We're going to have to arrange protective custody, a safe house." He stepped back further, avoiding Derek's gaze. He needed to keep control and not let his emotions get in the way. Parrish was going to have his hide as it was. And he still had to figure out who the hell had told the press where they were.

"Fine. Get in." Stiles felt the burn of Derek's anger and made sure to stand back as Ennis climbed in to the CR-V and barely managed to do up his seat belt before Derek was screeching out of there. 

"Fuck."

* * *

It was a roaring in his brain as he drove home on auto-pilot. Fortunately, the patrol-man in his passenger seat seemed content to remain silent. 

Could he be wrong about Stiles? If it wasn’t him who’d informed the press, then who the hell had it been? And what had he done, saying all of those things about the killer? He had practically painted a target on his back just because he’d lost his temper—had his experience with Gerard Argent taught him nothing?

“Would you like to go in Mr Hale?” It took the courteous question from his police escort to drag Derek to back the present and make him realise he’d pulled into his driveway.

“No—actually, there’s somewhere else I need to go."

“Mr Hale—“

“You can’t stop me.” He stared at Patrol-man Ennis, determination in every line of his body. 

“No, sir. But I do need to let Control know where we are.”

“Fine. Good. Right.” Reversing out of the driveway, Derek headed away from his home. He wasn’t ready to face the house: the rumpled, unmade bed that he and Stiles had left that morning; the breakfast dishes in the sink—basically all the signs of he and Stiles together. He needed space, clarity and another perspective and there was only one place he could think of to go.

“Derek, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey, Lyds.” Derek turned to his giant shadow who had finished radioing in to Dispatch their location, not quite sure how to handle this. "Officer Ennis, this is my sister Lydia. Lydia, this is my escort, Officer Ennis. Are you okay waiting outside?” 

“Sure.” With a relieved nod, Derek brushed past Lydia and made his way into her apartment. Ignoring the clutter on the table in front of him, Derek manoeuvred around it and threw himself onto her couch. He grabbed one of the numerous cushions and buried his face in it, not quite willing to face Lydia despite it being the one place he wanted to be.

“Tea?” He nodded, still refusing to come out from behind his camouflage. During the time it took for Lydia to boil the kettle and come back into the living room, the tinkering sounds of spoons against china, the slight rattling of cups in saucers, Derek had managed to calm himself down a lot. And he was starting to regret his knee-jerk reaction to the arrival of the press. “You ready to talk yet?”

“I think so.” Lowering the cushion, Derek finally met Lydia’s gaze. “What am I gonna do Lyds?”

“Well, first of all, don’t call me Lyds. I hate it. Secondly, I have to tell you I had a phone call before you arrived, kinda warning me.”

“He called you? How—“

“I gave him my card that morning, remember? And yeah, he called me.”

“And what, you’re on his side?” Forgetting his recent thoughts that he might have been incorrect, Derek scowled at his sister.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but I suggest you can the attitude Mister!” She spoke sharply, green eyes flashing with fury.

“Sorry. I’m sorry—I just—my head’s all over the place.”

“You ready to tell me why you’re taunting psycho killers live on the news? Then maybe we can figure out what we do from there, okay?” She shifted closer on the couch, reaching out and taking his hand. “But you know it would take a nuclear blast for me to be on anybody else’s side but yours, right?” Derek nodded, twisting their fingers together as he prepared to tell her everything.


	40. Rising Pressure...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter today so if you haven't read 'Press Relations', go back a chapter!

A description? The sheet of paper in his hand crumpled as he stared at the screen. How the hell had they got a description? The psychic was lying - obviously lying - and it made him so angry he could barely see straight.

And how **dare** he say those things! Things about being weak-willed and lazy - ugly and worthless - the same things Mother had said. Or had used to say before - 

Shaking, he tried to figure out his next move. He could wait, see what this description looked like - how close things actually were? 

Or he could get rid of the psychic once and for all. The police were only on his trail already because of that Derek Hale - maybe if he took him out of the equation, he would have more time to think, to plan his next move. 

Ugly and worthless? He'd show him ugly and worthless. He'd show Hale how beautiful he could make things given the chance. 

Not ugly. Never ugly.

He looked up as the bell above the door announced new arrivals, plastering a welcoming smile on his face ever as he threw the crumpled sheets of paper out of sight. 

"Good evening, welcome to Greenberg and Sons. How can I help you?" His voice was even, not even a hint of a tremor and he instantly felt more in control. But only for a moment as his hard-won peace was shattered.

"Hi, I'm Detective Chris Donald, and this is my partner, Detective Shaffer. We were hoping it wasn't too late to speak to Mr Greenberg."


	41. Loose Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware this is the third chapter posted tonight - if you haven't read 'Press Relations' and 'Rising Pressure', you need to go back a couple of chapters!
> 
> * * *

“Stilinski, I don’t know how to tell you this—“

“Captain, I swear by all that is holy that I have no idea how the press found out we were going to be there but—“

“In my office. Now. McCall, you too.” Scowling, Stiles followed Parrish into his office, quietly trying to prepare himself for the ass kicking he was pretty sure was coming his way. McCall shut the door behind them which was when Stiles realised Daehler was in the room. His Dad wasn’t the County Sheriff just because of his craggy good looks and Stiles hadn’t come top in the Detective exam because the answers were on the paper for him. And although Scott might be a little slower that Stiles, he was far from being an idiot.

“You mother fucking piece of shit!” Stiles got in one solid punch before McCall wrangled him into the corner of the office, desperately trying to catch his flailing limbs.

“You broke my fucking nose!” Daehler’s voice was muffled by his hands cupping his face. 

“I’m gonna snap your fucking back in half, you dickless waste of oxygen!” 

“Enough! McCall, do you have him?” Parrish gestured at Stiles who had momentarily stopped fighting against McCall’s hold. McCall looked Stiles in the face and he nodded that he had calmed down. 

“Yeah, we’re good.” In the time it took McCall to turn and reassure the captain, Stiles had broken free and smashed Daehler in the face, the feel of his knuckles splitting against teeth more than worth it for Daehler’s shriek of pain. 

“For God’s sake, McCall, sit on him if you have to!” Squeezed once more into the corner, Stiles allowed his muscles to relax as he stopped fighting McCall’s grip. “Daehler, stop bitching and sit the hell down. Jesus Christ!” Parrish sat down behind his desk. “What’s the situation with Hale?”

“Thanks to this douche-bag, he thinks we set him up as bait for the killer. I’ve got a patrol-man with him at the moment but we’re gonna have to look at protective custody after today.” Stiles tried to speak calmly even though his blood was still boiling. 

“Right, okay. Is he going to work with us or do we have to consider him a hostile witness?”

“Fuck knows. He’s pissed, Captain—he really thinks Stiles set him up with the press and after what happened with Argent, he’s not in a good emotional state.” McCall looked as weary as Stiles felt but he maintained a solid grip on his partner, obviously not trusting him not to go for Daehler again.

“And is it true—did he give us a description? Something we can use?”

“I’m not saying one more word while that piece of shit is in the room. I don’t care what you think of me, Daehler, but you put our one and only witness in danger and for what? Money? To take a jab at me?”

“Fuck you Stilinski! You think you’re something special just because your old man’s Sheriff in some podunk County? You’re not that good a detective. And why the hell shouldn’t I make some money out of this? You think it’s right that the department is a laughing stock because one of our lead detectives is a fag? And now you’re fucking some psychic freak on the department’s time and it’s supposed to be okay?” 

“That’s enough out of you Daehler. I want you off the premises. At the very least, you’re facing disciplinary action and whatever else I can throw at you by the end of all of this. Who a man fucks shouldn’t have any effect whatsoever on his standing in the department and if you can’t understand that basic concept, there is no place for you on this police force.”

“Captain—“

“You have fifteen minutes Daehler. Get out of my sight.”

Parrish walked to the door and held it open until a bloody-faced Daehler realised nothing more was going to be said until he had left the room. No one in the bullpen said anything about the blood pouring down his face as he shouldered his way out, although a couple of detectives threw Stiles assessing looks through the open door. Parrish slammed the door shut and walked back around his desk, giving a heavy sigh as he sat down.

“Stilinski, if it’ll help, I’ll talk to Hale, explain what happened.” 

“Yeah, no, I have no clue.” Finally free of McCall’s restraining grip, Stiles paced up and down the office, running his hands through his hair. “We need to get Derek in with the sketch artist asap. And a safe house needs to be arranged.” 

“How about a decoy? It’s not gonna be hard for this guy to find out Derek’s address—maybe plant one of our guys in case he makes a move?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. Actually, Mahealani could pass for Hale from behind maybe? We could set him up in his house, see if our guy makes a move?” Parrish began scribbling down notes. “Chief Harris has been on the line—he’s not pleased that he wasn’t able to get ahead of this, especially with one of our own being loose-lipped, but it does mean we’ve got a bigger budget to play with. Where’s Hale now?”

“With his sister. One of our guys is with him.”

“Good, okay, good. Maybe we can get the sketch artist to go over to Hale? Hell, what time is it? We’re not gonna get anyone here tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’ll get on that.” McCall left quietly, leaving Stiles alone with the Captain. 

“Stilinski, I can’t condone what you did to Daehler—“

“He’s lucky he’s still breathing!”

“But I can understand it. And like I said, I’ll explain it to Hale if it helps.” Parrish looked deep in thought for a moment. “This description—how good is it? I mean, really?”

“Derek says the guys looked right in the mirror—they were face to face, so it’s as good as you or I describing our reflection. This lead could be solid gold Captain.”

“Excellent.” They both turned at the knock on the door, Parrish gesturing for Shaffer and Donald to enter. Donald was carting a box of what looked like paperwork and Shaffer had an unholy smirk on her face. “How did it go at Greenberg and Sons?” 

“Fine, Captain. I was just teasing Chris here with his lack of luck in the love department.”

“Please God, no, I’ve heard enough about the love lives of my staff for today.” Parrish gestured at the box. “Is this all of their personnel files?” 

“It is indeed. We were going to make a start going through them tomorrow unless you want us to get on it tonight?” Donald dropped the box onto Parrish’s desk. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’m not paying overtime, so you two can go home. Stilinski, how secure is your house?” Parrish had a smirk on his face that made Stiles instantly suspicious.

“What?”

“Trying to sort out a suitable safe house tonight is gonna be a bitch. Take Hale to your place. We’ll sort out a decoy and protective custody tomorrow.” Parrish looked over at Stiles, raising his eyebrows. “What, you saying you and McCall can’t look after Hale tonight?” 

“No, hell no, thank you, Captain!” Seizing the opportunity that was being presented to him, Stiles scrambled to his feet and headed for the door. “I’ll—we’ll bring Hale in tomorrow, first thing. Thanks, Captain.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here Stilinski – I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.” With a crisp salute, Stiles shut the office door behind him and went to grab McCall—maybe he’d get a chance to explain things to Derek and salvage something from this God-awful day.

* * *

“You don’t know it was him.” 

“No, I don’t.” Derek took a sip of the beer from the third? fourth? bottle Lydia had brought out for him, sinking further down on the couch. Lydia matched his move until they were both slumped comfortably, bare feet resting on the table in front of them.

“And you don’t really think it was him either.” 

“What makes you say that?” Derek winced when the bottle struck his front teeth, deciding it was probably safer to hold it in his lap since it wasn’t cooperating drink-wise.

“Because if you thought it was him, you wouldn’t be here, right where he expects you to be,” Lydia smiled smugly in his direction.

“Why would he expect you to be here? I mean, me to be here?” 

“Oh please! He knew to call me to warn me where you were going to go—directly to me. So, of course, he knows you’re going to be here. And you know he knows you’re going to be here. So you’re waiting for him. You might be pissed at what you originally thought but you don’t really think Stiles had anything to do with this. I know you Derek—don’t let your fear make you push him away.” 

“Why the hell not, Lyds? This whole situation has caused me nothing but trouble—why would I want to stay involved with him? Why wouldn’t I believe that he was using me—the way they always use me?” 

“Because your detective isn’t like that and you know it. And because I know a little bit more about Stiles Stilinski now and I think he may be just the right person to bring some sunshine to your life.” She giggled, a sure sign she had definitely had too much to drink and being a good brother, Derek tried to swipe the bottle of beer out of her hand. He failed, but only because he was seeing double. At least he tried. 

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“The mother of all coincidences, Derek. My new beau is—“ The sound of someone knocking on the door interrupted her speech, and they both turned as though expecting to be able to see who it was through the closed door. “That doesn’t sound like your escort—his knock would probably be a little bit louder, don’t you think?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I don’t think we’re gonna find out who it is from here.” 

“Nope.” 

“Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”

“It’s your apartment, not mine. Besides, I’m not sure I can feel my legs. How many of these did you give me?” They stared at each other, neither willing to move. 

“Give you? Humph, please! You were the one who started the drinking, not me. Besides, I don’t drink beer—this is so uncouth Derek. Marmee would disown the pair of us.” There was another loud knock. Lydia stared at him for a few more moments before seeming to accept that he had no intention of getting up to answer the door. “Oh, fine, I’ll get it.” She pushed herself up off the couch and stomped over to the front door. Derek let his head fall to his chest, light-headed, tired and confused. He had no idea what he was going to do now—where did he and Stiles go now? And before any of that, how exactly was he going to handle being in the spotlight once again after six years? Footsteps came back into the room and he looked up, struck dumb as he realised it was Stiles. 

“Derek.”

“Stiles.” 

“God, men! You can be so emotionally constipated!! Derek? Listen to him and give him a chance. You, Detective, take care of my brother. I’m putting my faith in you and you don’t want to let me down.” She stared at Stiles hard for a few moments, swaying slightly. “And both of you need to leave now. Don’t you have to get Derek to some safety housing or something? I mean, the incredible hulk out there was impressive but after Derek’s performance on the news, I think he needs to be tied down in bed somewhere secret and kept out of the public eye, know what I mean Detective? Please don’t disappoint me.” With an elegant wave of her hand, she grabbed the bottle that was resting forgotten in Derek’s lap and disappeared into the kitchen. 

They stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them knowing what to say. 

“Come on, Derek. Officer Ennis has been relieved of duty, and I'm here to see you to an interim safe house.” Stiles sounded subdued and Derek felt guilty, aware that the things he had said earlier had hurt the other man. He wasn’t sure how any of it was going to be resolved—in fact, he wasn’t sure he was in any fit state to have a conversation—but he knew that he had to go with Stiles. He owed the other man that much. With a tired nod, he managed to find and get his feet into his shoes. He staggered slightly as he got to his feet but managed to straighten up, giving what he thought was a credible impression of a sober person as he followed Stiles out of the apartment.


	42. A Little More Conversation, a Little Less Action please...

Stiles realised it was pointless trying to have a talk with Derek as soon as they got into the car. Subtle swaying, the muttering under his breath and a couple of stumbles clued him in on the fact that Derek probably wasn’t sober enough for a serious talk.

As he drove towards his own place, he checked on Derek periodically. The other man had his face resting against the window, eyes closed although he was obviously not asleep. Anyway, what could he say? It didn’t matter that they now knew Matt Daehler had been responsible for letting the press know about Derek’s involvement—he had always known that he hadn’t called the press. It was more about the fact that Derek obviously didn’t trust him. It was his own damned fault—he’d coerced and pushed Derek and they had moved too fast. He should have waited until the case was over, built their relationship up slowly. Instead, in Derek’s mind, he’d joined the list of bastards who had used him and Stiles wasn’t sure how they recovered from that. 

He swung into his underground garage, parking the car in his bay quickly before turning to Derek. The side of his head was still resting against the window, his face looking soft in sleep, lips parted slightly and dark lashes forming a fan on his cheeks. So vulnerable. And now in danger, in part because of Stiles. He owed it to Derek to keep him safe, get him through this and give him space—that’s what he _should_ do. But he knew himself too well—there was no way he was going to back off now. Derek was his and if he had to bulldoze his way through the other man’s insecurities and defences again, he would do it. Two out of three wasn’t bad.

“Derek—babe, time to wake up.” When Derek didn’t stir, Stiles got out of the car as quietly as he could and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and leant over Derek’s relaxed body to release the seatbelt. 

“Stiles—?” Derek breathed his name in a sleepy voice, eyes blinking open so that Stiles was captured by the pale green stare. “—I’m sorry.”

“Derek—you don’t have to be sorry. I get it, babe, I do. Let’s get you upstairs, yeah?” Derek nodded tiredly, obviously still not fully awake. He allowed Stiles to guide him out of the car, ducking his head obediently and swaying gently in one place as Stiles shut the door and locked the vehicle. “Come on Der.”

Derek remained cooperative, walking alongside Stiles across the car park and into the elevator that led up to the apartments above. It was the work of a few moments to let the two of them into his apartment and Stiles steered Derek directly to the bathroom. 

“I know it’s been a long day—feel free to have as shower, freshen up. There're spare toothbrushes in the cabinet. The living room is to the right as you come out once you’re done.” He waited until Derek nodded in acknowledgement before leaving the other man and heading towards the kitchen. Moving on automatic pilot, he set up the coffee machine, grabbing three mugs and rinsing them out in the sink as he let his mind wander. Derek had apologised but Stiles wasn’t sure what for—was it for being a little inebriated? Or was it for the things he had said at the crime scene? Had he realised that there was no way Stiles would have done something like that to him, put him in such danger? Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about it—they had the next day to plan, sleeping arrangements to sort out, a serial killer to catch. Everything else would need to go on the back burner—or at least until Derek wasn’t drunk. It was strange how much it _didn’t_ bother him having Derek in his space—this was the first time he’d brought someone home with him and it didn’t feel strange at all. One more thing to chalk up to the whole Derek Hale experience, he guessed.

The sound of the buzzer dragged him away from his reverie.

“Yep?”

“It’s me, McCall. Let me up.”

“Okay, buddy.” Pressing the intercom that worked the entrance, he walked back to the front door. 

“Derek, it’s just Scott.” He took the muffled sound as acknowledgement and he could hear the sounds of Derek brushing his teeth. A double tap on the door and he checked the peep-hole, confirming it was just his partner before opening the door and letting him in. 

“I stopped by his place, grabbed a few bits and pieces—enough for tonight at least.” Stiles patted Scott on the back in thanks, then followed him back through to the kitchen. “Ugh, tell me you didn’t make this coffee Stiles?”

“What? There is nothing wrong with the way I make coffee.”

“As long as you’re happy drinking diesel oil! Move out of the way.” Scott turned the coffee machine off, poured away the thick black liquid that had already dripped through the filter and rinsed everything out, starting the coffee again from scratch.

“My coffee isn’t that bad—you’ve just got a sensitive stomach.” He pushed Scott gently by the shoulder.

“Better that than cast iron if you ask me!” Scott shoved him back, laughing before he turned his face to the door and the laughter faded. “Hey, Derek.”

“Hi, Scott. I—Stiles said I could have a shower but I realised I have no clothes here so I just dunked my head.”

“Right.” The silence between the three of them stretched thin. 

“Where are we if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh yeah, sorry! This isn’t one of the department’s safe houses—this is my place. It was a bit late to sort out something on such short notice so the captain suggested Scott and I could keep an eye on you here.” Stiles spoke quickly, not sure how to read Derek’s mood. “And Scott brought you a change of clothes and some toiletries from your place. So, yeah, if you want to take a shower now that’s cool.”

“Well, actually, now my head’s cleared a little, I wouldn’t mind finding out what’s going on.” Derek looked uncomfortable, not meeting Stiles gaze as he spoke. 

“Yeah, sure. We’re just making coffee and then we can sit down, bring you up to speed.”

“I made the coffee so it’s safe to drink,” Scott interjected.

“Yeah, Stiles’ coffee is more like diesel oil!”

“That’s what I said!” Scott smiled at Derek and Derek smiled back, and Stiles felt a pang of jealousy. No awkwardness between those two. How come Derek hadn’t thought that Scott had called the press? He realised how ridiculous he was being but it was hard to let go of the little bit of resentment he was feeling. Derek obviously had no issues with Scott.

By the time the mini jealous fog had cleared, Scott and Derek had taken their coffee into the living room and Stiles was left standing like a spare part in the kitchen. Doctoring his own cup of coffee, he gave himself a stern talking to then followed the two of them into the living room, deliberately taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch from Derek so that he could see his face. It was time to talk.

* * *

“Captain Parrish sends his apologies—the details of your assistance and involvement in the case were leaked by a member of our department. He has asked me to convey his assurances that the culprit will be disciplined severely and this whole situation is being treated with the utmost seriousness.” Scott spoke directly to Derek, sincerity ringing in his tone, an earnest look on his face. “And if it makes you feel any better, Stiles broke his nose and split his lip—he is definitely not getting away with this scot-free.”

“Thank you. I—I wanted to apologise to both you and Stiles for thinking for even a moment that either of you was involved in that. It was a knee jerk reaction but that’s no excuse.” Derek looked down at his mug of coffee, unable to bring himself to look at Stiles or Scott. Especially Stiles. He’d beaten up the culprit—a member of his own department—on Derek’s behalf. It made the guilt even heavier to bear. “I know neither of you would do something like that—please accept my sincere apologies.”

“Goes without saying, Derek.” Scott sat forward, obviously eager to put Derek at ease. “I freaked out too, especially when I realised it was live. That was either really brave or really stupid what you did, Derek, but either way, we’re here to make sure you come to no harm because of it.”

“I appreciate that.”

“That, and I’m looking forward to seeing Stiles being all domesticated—you have got to be the first man I have ever known Stiles to let into his cave, let alone stay here. He must be completely head over—erm, wow, is that the time? I need to call in to Dispatch, let them know everything’s good.” Scott’s face was bright red and Derek quickly looked over at Stiles just in time to see him making a ‘quit it’ gesture by slicing his hand across his throat. He ducked his head again, trying not to smile as Scott scrambled to his feet and left the room to call in to Control. They sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence once Scott had left the room.

“Scott gets carried away sometimes—you should ignore a good fifty percent of what comes out of his mouth!” Stiles sounded a little stiff.

“Which bit should I ignore—about you not bringing men back here or about you being head over heels?” Derek tried to keep his voice even but he was shocked as hell. Why would Stiles bring him _here_? He didn’t believe the bullshit about it being too late to arrange a safe house—there was no way in hell that if he had been some gang-banger witness that Stiles would have been putting him up personally. As for the head over heels thing—

“Does it matter? I mean, to you. Does it matter?”

“Do you want it to matter?” They stared at each other, neither saying a word. 

“Are we down to talking in circles now? Answering a question with a question?” Stiles ran his hands over his face. “Derek I get it—knee jerk reaction made you think betrayal. I get why you were mad at me—I understand it. But you don’t trust me and you said it yourself, you don’t know me. How do you even know what you’re feeling for me, if anything, is real?”

“What, you think I’m too damaged to know how I feel?” Shoving his mug onto the table in front of him, Derek tried to bring some order to his thoughts. “Is that what you think of me, Stiles? That I’m some damaged damsel in distress?”

“I never thought of you as damaged, Derek. I just—maybe this thing between us happened too fast for you.”

“ **You** were the one who pushed for this!”

“Goddamit, I know that! I know that. This whole shit-show is bad enough—I don’t want you feeling that you’ve been bulldozed into a relationship with me.” Stiles looked undecided for a moment before an expression of resolve formed on his face. “I’m pretty sure I love you, although this wasn’t exactly how I planned to confess that to you. There was gonna be Netflix and ice cream and popcorn and us in bed together but—look, I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t even say that it **wouldn’t** have occurred to me to use you as bait if we weren’t involved because I’m not really a nice guy. In fact, most people would tell you I’m more than a bit of an asshole.”

“I’d agree you’re an asshole.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“It was a compliment really. Erica tells me I’m an asshole all the time.” Derek made himself stand up and face Stiles. “And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too.”

“Yeah?” Stiles’ voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, and it occurred to Derek that it had taken a lot of guts for Stiles to admit how he felt when he didn’t know if the feeling was reciprocated. The way Stiles was prepared to put himself out there for Derek over and over made his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah. But maybe we could slow things down a little bit? Maybe get this serial killer put away before we see where we want to go with things?”

“Take it slow—yeah, I can do that.” Stiles came to stand directly in front of Derek, a small smile on his face. “How slow is slow? I mean, can I hold you?”

“I guess.” Derek did nothing to stop Stiles pulling him into his arms. 

“What about running my hands up and down your back?” Derek took a deep breath as Stiles’ hands began to move caressingly up and down, subtly pulling Derek closer as he did so. He rubbed his chin against the side of Derek’s head, giving a quiet sigh as he did so.

“I think we can allow that.” Not allowing himself to think too deeply about it all, Derek put his arms around Stiles’ neck, stepping closer so that they were chest to chest, face to face. 

“Am I allowed to kiss you—just a little kiss?”

“A kiss on the cheek maybe?” Suiting deed to words, Derek turned his face so he could place a soft kiss on Stiles’ cheek, allowing himself to get a little distracted by a mole that demanded his attention.

“Maybe more than a kiss on the cheek? Like, I don’t know, your eyes maybe?”

“Hmm?” The moles, strangely enough, seemed to lead directly to Stiles’ mouth and Derek found he was speaking against the other man’s lips.

“If this is going too fast—“

“No, this is nice and slow.”

“Derek—“

“Stiles.” He pulled back until they were looking into each other’s eyes. “I know my own mind.”

“I—“

“And I need to know you trust me to know my own mind. I’m not damaged goods, Stiles.” They stared at each other, each seeming to search for something intangible.

“Wanna see my bedroom? I can tell you hand on heart that no one else has seen it the way I want to show it to you.”

“So Scott wasn’t talking complete bullshit then?” Derek was aware of Stiles guiding him gently backwards and he let himself completely relax, brushing kisses against the long column of Stiles’ neck. 

“Scott possibly knows me better than I know myself.” Stiles released Derek long enough to open a door and flick on a light, turning Derek so that he was facing the bedroom. A king-sized bed dominated the room, a jumble of sheets and pillows making it look warm and inviting. “So, yeah, head over heels may just be the best description of how I feel.”

“Glad to know I’m not alone.”

“Not ever again.”


	43. A Little Recon....

Amazing how easy it was finding things out about someone when the news so helpfully told you everything about them. Like them owning a bookstore.

It was the work of a little google magic to find a home address for the proprietor and here he sat, looking at a nondescript house, wondering how the owner could bring his life crashing down around his ears so easily.

The whole time he’d been dealing with Detectives Donald and Shaffer, his hands had been shaking. But he’d held it together, playing up his distress a little so that they wouldn’t push too hard with their questions. Donald had made that easy—a tremble of the bottom lip, eye contact for a little too long, hands touching a little too long as he passed the employee records over. 

Too easy.

He’d thought about taking his file out but decided that would be stupid. The police wouldn’t put it together—they never did. Besides, despite what Mother said, he wasn’t stupid. 

They wouldn’t leave Hale here, not without protection anyway. So he couldn’t do anything tonight. He’d be careful, research, check everything out. There was something about the Detective that had been on the news show with Hale—maybe something he could exploit? 

And then he’d get rid of this damned psychic once and for all.


	44. The Face of a Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than normal but hopefully you guys will like it. Everything is coming to a head now.
> 
> * * *
> 
> WARNINGS: Mention of child abuse - not explicit but mention. More warnings at the end of the chapter if you want to read them beforehand.

It was hard to care about McCall’s bitching when Derek was struggling to hide his smile. Of course, the way he was feeling, it would probably take a building landing on him to even dent his own smile.

“I’m sorry my iron wasn’t up to your rigorous standards—and that you didn’t have enough time in the bathroom this morning. And I am nearly prostrate with grief that my jelly wasn’t your favourite flavour. Now, can you give it a rest or do you want the sketch artist to hear all about the lack of starch in your shirt this morning?” Stiles opened the door to the precinct and gestured for Derek to enter first before giving his partner the finger and allowing the door to shut in his face. 

Stiles didn’t care about the looks he was getting from his colleagues as he kept the palm of his hand at the base of Derek’s spine, guiding him past the bullpen and into one of the comfortable family rooms.

“Do you want a coffee or anything—i think Morrell should be here shortly so we won’t be waiting long.”  


“No thanks, I’m fine.” Derek took a seat, seeming to be off in a world of his own. He’d been quiet all morning but not in a bad way. He just seemed relaxed, almost serene. Stiles would be lying if he tried to claim that he wasn’t feeling a little bit smug about it. He’d put that quiet smile on Derek’s face, amidst all of the chaos and stress, and he was going to enjoy it for as long as he could.

Seeing Derek was comfortable, he went back out into the main office to catch up with everyone. 

“The closest thing we have to a suspect is a Jules Baccari. We’ve tracked the name through four different cities that match the cases we have. At least two of the others cases are within travelling distance.” Tate spoke tiredly, obviously having put in a long night. She passed paperwork to Shaffer and Donald as she carried on speaking. “Then he disappears—approximately six months ago. We're waiting on a copy of his driving licence to be faxed through.”

“Does that timeline match with anyone over at Greenberg and Sons?” 

“None of the employees in the paperwork they sent us. It’s a frustrating dead end to what we thought was going to be something significant.” Even Yukimura looked disheartened.

“No new employees, even casual staff?” That came from McCall. “Any time within the last six months at all?”

“Only the receptionist—“ Donald spoke up.

“Oh yes, your little receptionist!” Tina was laughing, 

“What’s all this?” Stiles came to a halt behind Tina’s chair and she looked up at him over her shoulder, still laughing.

“Our Chris has taken a bit of a shine to the receptionist over at Greenberg and Sons. A real damsel in distress, practically wept on his shoulder when we collected the box of paperwork.”

“Shut up!” Donald was embarrassed, ducking his head at his colleagues’ teasing.

“She was a little weird looking if you ask me—her makeup job was—“

“Stilinski!” Stiles turned at hearing his name, seeing the Desk Sargent waving in his direction. “Morrell is waiting for you at the reception desk.” Smiling good-naturedly at the continued teasing Donald was being subjected to, he and McCall headed towards reception. The sketch artist was sitting patiently in one of the chairs in the waiting room. 

“Thanks for coming at such short notice, Ms Morrell.”

“No worries at all, Detective Stilinski, Detective McCall.” Marin Morrell stood a diminutive five foot four and a half inches tall, but always seemed taller and more imposing because of her definite character. She was very pretty, with warm coffee coloured skin and kind eyes, but Stiles had seen her cut down sexist or rude police officers with a minimum of effort and sharp words, and he had nothing but respect for her. “If what I’ve heard is true, this is definitely an out of the ordinary one—something a bit different.”

“Yeah, the witness is unusual, to say the least.” Stiles wasn’t quite sure how to explain it.

“Detective McCall gave me the details when he rang so you don’t need to explain further. Lead the way.” McCall, ever the gentleman, took the large bag of supplies and they all made their way to the family room where Derek was waiting.

Within ten minutes of being introduced, Derek was sat behind Marin, a cup of coffee held absently in hand as they worked through the details of the killer’s appearance. It was slow, methodical work, going through what seemed to be endless variations of eyebrows and noses, the size of the eyes, the width and thickness of lips, the slant of the jaw, the jut of the chin. Derek would sometimes close his eyes, seeming to be trying to picture the face in his mind, but it wasn’t an easy task duplicating it on paper going through another person.

Stiles deliberately didn’t interrupt but remained nearby, providing refills of coffee and bottles of water as required.

“The bridge of the nose should be higher,” Derek said thoughtfully, examining the latest effort. He’d obviously worked with police artists in the past as he seemed to have a good idea what Marin needed from him. “Eyes a little closer together.”

Marin made the changes with a few deft strokes of her pencil, showing the amendments to Derek. “Better?”

“Yeah, definitely better but still not quite right. It’s the eyes I think—they were smaller, not so oval. And thicker eyelashes.” Derek sighed in frustration. “It’s difficult to describe them because he shaved his brows off, it puts the whole face off.”

“Yes, it does a bit but we can work around that. You’re doing well, Derek, making this very easy for me.” Marin made some more minute adjustments. “Attractive, unattractive would you say?”

Derek frowned, brows furrowed in concentration. “Actually, almost pretty if it wasn’t a word not normally associated with men. I hate to use the word, but almost _effeminate_ maybe?” Marin kept making subtle changes as he spoke, then once more sat back so that Derek could see clearly what she had done.

Derek leant forward, something in his expression catching Stiles’ attention. “That’s good, that’s good—can you make the forehead a little wider, taper the chin—refine it a bit, a more sweetheart shape maybe?” 

“More like this?” More pencil strokes and Derek gave out a gasp.

“Stop. That’s—that’s good. That’s it.” Stiles got up from his seat and came to stand behind the two of them. He took in all the details of the sketch, his mind running through all of the things that Derek had said to him about the killer. “Stiles—“

“He looks like a woman.” He verbalised what they were all thinking. 

“Yeah. He—he’s either trans-gender or—“ Derek spoke slowly.

“What if _he_ is actually a _she_?” Stiles looked down at Marin who quickly grabbed another piece of paper and replicated the face, this time adding in eyebrows, emphasising slightly the mouth, softening the jawline and chin. A bit of shading to suggest a feminine hair style and Stiles took a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ, we’re looking for a woman!”

* * *

He couldn’t go back to Greenberg and Sons. It was too much of a risk—the police might not catch on but that damned psychic was a major fly in the ointment. It was a real shame—finding volunteers had been so much easier when they came to him. Whining and bitching about the work done by the guys in the workshop, like they had the right to complain. 

All gussied up with lashings of makeup, tight clothes, flaunting themselves. 

It was wrong, all wrong. 

Mother had made sure he knew right from wrong. Mother had made sure he understood the inherent evilness of being female—that it led good men astray. 

Like his father had been led astray—had left them for some loose woman with never a thought to his wife and child. 

It had been worse when puberty hit—how dirty he’d felt. 

It had been horrid. 

Mother had beaten him for the messes he’d made despite it not being his fault. She’d always punished him—had to keep the evil beaten down she said. But now it was different. Now it was worse. She’d kept him home from school when the bruises were at their worst but that hadn’t stopped them getting involved. Psychiatrists and social workers, all trying to get into their business, get him to say things against his mother. Like he would betray her like that. 

That was the first time they found out—the first time someone had called him Julia instead of Jules. Confusing and painful and all completely wrong. He’d dealt with that, though. He’d made her stop saying those things. But they’d had to leave then, moving across the country. And they kept moving until Jules was old enough to take care of them.

Old enough to take care of Mother. Once and for all. 

He still moved but it was when **he** was ready to move on. Sometimes he stayed places longer than others. Sometimes the urges weren’t strong and he could stay in one place. But it always happened. Sooner or later, some woman would come along and ruin things. 

Sometimes he had to live the other way. Had to be Jennifer. Those were the most difficult times. Those were the times when the urges were strongest; when he had to have more and more volunteers. Four different cities in the last three years. But it was necessary—harder for the police to track him when he was living as Jennifer than when he was living as Jules. He'd lived as Jules for quite some time and Mother had been quiet. But as always, the volunteers kept speaking to him and things had been ruined.

So he’d moved here. Got a job as a receptionist. Been as happy as he could be for a little while. Mother had her own room and was quiet. Things had been almost good. He hadn't felt evil. Hadn't felt like he was being bad or leading anyone astray.

Then Asher, one of the mechanics had asked him out on a date—he was sure it was a dare or something from one of the other guys. They’d gone out—to the movies. And it had all been fine. Until Asher kissed him afterwards and tried to do other things. Tried to touch him in places that Mother had told him were bad. She had told him that no one should touch him there. He’d made Asher stop. Had sent him away. And now they didn’t even speak at work anymore.

And suddenly the urges were back. Suddenly he was preparing himself and looking for volunteers. 

It was so unfair. Only twice had he given in. Just twice. 

And now this damned psychic was going to ruin it all.

He was going to have to sort him out. Like he had Mother. He was going to have to make him go away.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter contains mention of child abuse - not sexual. This is not explicit in nature, but it is mentioned. There is also disclosure of gender confusion. If this will trigger or upset you in any way, please do not read. Thank you. 
> 
> I will update the tags to reflect these warnings.
> 
> * * *


	45. Hustle and Bustle

“The sketch has been issued and shown on the local news already and an APB has been posted.”

“Thanks. Did someone get a chance to update Mahealani?”

“Yeah—he’s gonna go home to get some civvies then we can take him around to Hale’s place, set him up.”

“Perfect.”

“Stilinski!” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you come and check this please?”

Derek sat and watched as everyone bustled around. From the time the sketch had been completed and they had realised that the killer was a woman, things in the precinct had been insane. It was actually reassuring watching how well they gelled as a team—if he wanted people on his side, Stiles’ team of detectives seemed like a good choice.

“Are you doing okay, Mr Hale?” Derek looked up as Captain Parrish appeared in front of him.

“Captain Parrish. Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” It took him by surprise that the Captain sat down next to him, obviously wanting to talk. 

“We haven’t really spoken since all of this started. I wanted to make sure to say thank you for everything you’ve done.” 

“You’re welcome. But thank you—for being prepared to listen to me when I first came in. I know it would have been easier to write me off as a crackpot.”

“Hey, I used to watch some pretty out there stuff—I’m more than willing to accept that we don’t know everything about what the human brain is capable of.” The two of them sat and watched as people bustled around them. “Umm, I don’t quite know how to say this so I’m just going to say it. Stilinski seems to think a lot of you and he’s a good guy. Just—“

“Are you giving me the good old Buffy shovel talk?” Derek was slightly incredulous—he had half expected this from McCall as Stiles’ partner, but not the Captain. 

“I’m not Stilinski’s best friend or anything, but I do know his Dad. I kinda promised John that I would keep an eye on Stiles when I took over as Captain here.” Parrish looked slightly embarrassed.

“No, that’s—that’s actually kinda cool. And I promise to do my best not to hurt him.”

“Good, great. Well, this conversation has been fun but I need to help sort this all out. A good leader leads from the front and all that.” Parrish held out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Derek took it and they shook. “You’re a special person Mr Hale.”

“Thank you again, Captain Parrish.” It felt like he had passed some weird test—maybe he should consider Parrish to be Stiles’ pseudo father-figure, in which case he was pleased that he seemed to have passed muster. His thoughts were interrupted when Stiles appeared in front of him.

“Derek, this is Danny Mahealani.” Derek looked up at the tall, tanned, good looking officer that had followed Stiles over. “He’s going to be your decoy for the next few days. Danny, this is Derek Hale.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks for what you’re doing.”

“No problem—it all goes down as experience for when I apply for the Detective’s exam.” Derek found himself looking Mahealani up and down, trying to see some resemblance between the two of them. The other man was taller, broader in the shoulders and, in Derek’s opinion, much better looking. But Stiles thought there was enough of a resemblance for Danny to be his decoy. It was disconcerting but flattering beyond belief.

“Okay, well I really do appreciate this. We’re not even sure if this guy, sorry woman, is going to be coming after me.” Stiles scowled.

“It makes sense and besides, better to be safe than sorry.”

“I agreed, didn’t I?”

“Yes, after much argument!”

“Stiles—“

“Okay, okay. Mahealani, you be back here for three and we’ll get you over there.” Derek watched as Mahealani headed off, then Stiles turned back to him. “You okay?”

“I’m surprisingly good considering you think a deranged serial killer is after me. I just need to grab a few things before your officer takes over my place.”

“That’s fine. Look, Derek, I really appreciate you not kicking off about all of this—not going to the book-store and everything. I know this is some major upheaval but we really just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I don’t go out of my way to make your life difficult, Stiles. And I know the importance of co-operating with the police.”

“Well, I like the way you co-operate with me.” Stiles’ voice had lowered to almost a sultry tone.

“Should you be giving me those kind of looks whilst you’re at work?”

“What kind of looks would those be?” Stiles stepped a little closer.

“Same kind of looks as last night—like you’re looking at me lying naked in front of you and wondering where to start.”

“Why, Mr Hale, you make me sound positively salacious.”

“I think that’s a pretty good description of you, Mr Stilinski.” They were chest to chest and for a moment, Derek forgot where they were. It was a heady feeling flirting with Stiles, watching his eyes darken, hearing his voice deepen as he became more and more aroused by Derek. Heady indeed. Add to that how protective Stiles was—not seeing Derek as weak or a damsel in distress—just as someone he wanted to keep safe. It meant a lot.

“I like the thought of being salacious with you—or would it be salacious about you?” Stiles reached out and stroked Derek’s shoulder, a caress that felt like it was touching Derek a lot lower.

“I’m not sure. Is that like being licentious with me?”

“Is that an actual word?”

“It is indeed.”

“Have I told you how sexy I find it that you know all of these ten dollar words? Why would you use one syllable when three or four would do?”

“Are you calling me wordy?” Stiles seemed to be hypnotised by the movement of his hand on Derek’s shoulder, mouth parted as he unconsciously licked his lips. Derek could feel himself leaning forward, trying to get closer. 

“I’m calling you sexy.” This close, the different shades of brown in Stiles’ eyes were quite hypnotic.

“Last night not enough for you?” 

“Oh, definitely not. I want to do **ALL** of the licentious things with you, Mr Hale. I imagine it will take many, _many_ years and many, _many_ tubes of lube before—“

“Stiles! Can you come and check this requisition paperwork before you and Hale need to get a room?” Shaffer and Donald laughed at McCall’s question, and Derek felt himself blush as he stepped back quickly. Stiles moved back too, a little slower, his hand lingering on Derek’s arm. 

“Umm, am I okay to go and pack my stuff?” 

“Yeah, just let me do this and we’ll make our way over to your place.”

“Excellent.” He watched Stiles walk across the room and speak to his colleagues, a little distracted by the way his shoulders looked in a blue and white plaid shirt. Derek had never had this effect on anyone—and no one had ever had this effect on Derek—it was intoxicating. His cell rang.

“Can I assume everything is going well?”

“Hey, Lyds.”

“Don’t call me Lyds. So, did you sort things out?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Good, I knew you would.”

“Why are you so sure he’s a good guy? You’ve met him a grand total of two times, each for less than ten minutes.” Derek sat back down, absently watching Stiles as he talked.

“Because.”

“Logical.”

“Besides, I know all about your Detective Stilinski. My new beau? His name is Jackson Whittemore and he knows your guy.”

“Jackson? What kind of douche-cannon name is _Jackson_?”

“Did I mention they grew up together?”

“How long have you been dating and how come I haven’t met him yet?”

“Long enough. And did I also mention he knows Stiles’ _real_ name?”

“Really?” Derek couldn’t deny he was curious but he figured Stiles would tell him in his own time.

“He does. He hasn’t told _me_ yet—in fact, he said he might no longer be able to pronounce it as it’s Polish apparently—but I bet I could get him to tell me and I _might_ be persuaded to tell you.”

“By what?” Derek made himself comfortable. “What’s it going to take?”

“Ooooh, so you really don’t know it yet? Jackson said it was damned near a state secret—only his dad calls Stiles by it now and that’s only when he’s in trouble.”

“Lydia.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was thinking of taking Jackson to meet Marmee and I thought if you brought Stiles, then maybe it would split her focus.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea!” And it would give Derek the opportunity to check out this Jackson guy.

“Really? Good! Although maybe not this Sunday because Jackson was talking about taking me away for the weekend.”

“That’s good. Fine by me.”

“So, are you going to tell me about that face that was on the news this evening?”

“God! Things are just—everything’s moving really quickly.”

“But you’re okay, right? He’s gonna make sure—“

“—that I’m not kidnapped by a deranged serial killer again?”

“Yeah, that.” They both laughed slightly, something they had never managed to do about the Gerard incident before.

“Yeah, I can’t give you the details but I don’t think you have to worry.”

“I know but—“

“At this moment in time, I am surrounded by some of the city’s finest. Believe me, I’m gonna be fine.”

“You sound good, Bear.” Derek grimaced at the nickname he hadn’t heard in years, then couldn't help but smile. He liked the fact that Lydia seemed to like Stiles. And if Jackson had grown up with Stiles, maybe he was better than the guys Lydia normally ended up with.

“As good as I can be in the middle of a police investigation.”

“I’m glad. It’s about time, you know.”

“Thanks.” His sister sounded so sincere, he was truly touched.

“And I win the bet between me, Boyd and Erica—I knew you would settle down with Stiles sooner rather than later!”

“Whoa, there! Who said anything about settling down? And what bet?” He realised he had raised his voice when a couple of people looked over at him with curiosity.

“Oh please! I saw the way he looked at you, and how you looked at him, Bear! You guys are settling down which means, I win!” She sounded jubilant and Derek inwardly groaned—there was nothing worse than a gloating Lydia.

“Shut up.”

“Real mature Bear.”

“Why am I speaking to you again?”

“Because I am awesome and perfect and if you speak to me you know I’ll disseminate any and all important information to the relevant people so that you are not continually harassed by other members of our illustrious family.”

“You are unbearably smug, but you are indeed correct—about some of that anyway. Thanks, Lyds.”

“What for? And don’t call me Lyds.”

“For **making** me go with him and talk to him. I appreciate it.” He looked up to see that Stiles was waving in his direction, keys in hand and jacket over his arm. “I gotta go. I’ll speak to you soon, okay?”

“Yep. And I’ll drag as much information about your Stiles as I can from Jackson.”

“And pretend it’s for me and not because you’re a nosy assed bitch!”

“Love you too! Bye Bear!” He didn’t get a chance to respond before she had gone, smiling as he put his cellphone away and went to join Stiles. It was obviously time to go and collect his stuff and then head back to Stiles’ place. Which sounded pretty fine to him.


	46. A Very Helpful Man

The supervisor, Finstock, was incredibly helpful, more than happy to show him around one of the vacant apartments. 

Mother was right—a short skirt, a tight sweater, and it was easy to distract him whilst swiping a set of keys to the building. Finstock was talking about losing body parts to frostbite and he was a little lost in the conversation but it didn’t matter—it wasn’t as though the other man required any real encouragement to keep talking. Strange as it might seem, Finstock was very well organised—each set of spare keys was labelled with apartment number and the name of the resident. 

“So, is the apartment building monitored internally?”

“Not exactly—car park is covered so you wouldn’t have to worry about walking across it on dark nights. Besides, we have our very own resident detective. Bilinski’s a good guy—believe me, this is one of the safest apartment blocks in the area.” 

“Your own detective? Now that is just so reassuring.” 

“I like to think so. Do you think you’d be interested in renting the apartment then?” Finstock was already pulling out paperwork, obviously eager to get him to sign on the dotted line. 

“I may well be. How quickly would I have to let you know?”

“Well, Ms Blake, I have a couple viewing it tomorrow afternoon. But obviously, there’s time for you to take another look if it would help with your decision.”

“I can call you later today maybe?” How lucky was he going to be? Was fate on his side?

“Well, I’m actually out later today—really, there’s no rush. If you’re interested, I can always put the couple off—give you a bit of thinking time.” Oh yeah—everything was lining up nicely. 

“Thank you so much, Mr Finstock. You are such a gentleman. I really appreciate you showing me around. I will call you tomorrow morning then.” The supervisor blushed, stepping closer so that he could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“My pleasure, Ms Blake. It’s not often we get a real lady around—most girls these days are all gussied up with too much makeup. If I may say so, it’s a real pleasure to meet a lady who understands the idea that less is more.” It was hard not to flinch when Finstock allowed his eyes to wander but he held it together—after all, it wasn’t Finstock who was the object of this entire exercise. 

“Well, that is what my Mother taught me.” 

Finstock walked him out of the building, helpfully pointing out the parking bays and security cameras in the underground parking as he did so. A friendly wave, a shy smile, and he was heading back to the front of the property, wiping off the phantom touch of Finstock’s sweaty palm on his hand from their handshake. 

It bothered him slightly that it wasn’t a Friday but he wasn’t a fool. An opportunity like this wouldn’t come around every day—he could get caught doing surveillance—following Hale around as they moved him from safe house to safe house; they could give him more security whereas at the moment, they seemed to think two detectives was enough. Obviously, they expected him to fall for whoever they decided to plant in Hale’s house—he wasn’t a fool. He’d watched Criminal Minds and programmes like that. He knew the procedure, the things they would try to do to trap him. 

No, the fact that it wasn’t a Friday would have to make no difference. 

This was a special occasion.

He could make an exception.


	47. Shield Against the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the delay - ill health and the start of the school holidays meant I have been completely unable to update. It doesn't help that I am back to not sleeping at night but the words will not come as my brain is so tired.
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for it.

“And the sink sometimes takes a while to drain so don’t worry, it’s probably not blocked.”

“Derek, seriously, Officer Mahealani will be _fine_. It’s time to go.” Waiting by the front door, Stiles tapped his keys against his thigh.

“Okay, okay, I was just—“

“Obsessing.”

“I’m not obsessing—I just want to make sure that Officer Mahealani isn’t inconvenienced more than he already is by being here on my behalf.” Derek grabbed his coat and the duffel bag he had packed with enough essentials for a few days.

“Thank you, Mr Hale.”

“You should at least call me Derek—you’re risking your life for me according to Detective Stilinski here.”

“Okay, Mr Sour-wolf, let’s go! Let’s allow Mahealani to get to the life-saving portion of the evening.” With a sigh, Derek allowed Stiles to lead him out of the house and towards the car. They were leaving the CR-V in the driveway to reinforce the idea that Derek was at home.

Within a couple of minutes, they were on their way to Stiles’ apartment. The further away they got from his home, the more relaxed Derek felt. He hadn’t realised how stressed he had been feeling—he couldn’t decide if it was about getting away from a dangerous situation or staying with Stiles. It was a bit of a conundrum.

“You okay?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just checking in with you. I know this is an imposition and I didn’t really ask you about staying at my place.” Derek realised that Stiles was nervous and it made him feel even more relaxed. 

“I’m good. I have no problems staying at your place as long as you don’t mind having me there.” Derek slouched down in his seat, sliding his hand across the central console until it was resting on Stiles’ thigh. He liked the way the muscles tightened beneath his hand, the quick glance Stiles threw in his direction.

“I like the idea of you being there. It’s not as comfortable as your place but I like you in my space.”

“I think I like the idea of being in your space.” Stiles’ changed gears and Derek enjoyed the movement under his hand. Without thinking it through, he slid his hand inward until it was directly between Stiles’ thighs, the rough denim feeling warm under his fingertips.

“I’m not sure we’re talking about the same space.”

“Are you objecting?”

“No, just wondering if I should take the scenic route home to see what you’re prepared to do or the shortest route so I can see what you can do in my space in my space.”

“Oh well, I’ll leave that decision up to you.” Smiling, Derek stroked up and down Stiles’ thigh, moving closer and closer to the juncture of his thighs with each upward motion.

“Not gonna help me out in the slightest, huh?”

“I might help you out—it depends on how far away we are from your place.” A quick glance out of the window showed they were about five minutes away from Stiles’ apartment. His next motion up, he came to a stop, cupping the obvious bulge pressed against the denim.

“As an officer of the law, I should not be encouraging you to continue what you’re currently doing. However, as your _very_ enthusiastic partner, I find myself contemplating a very extended detour.”

“Zip or button-fly?”

“A severely beleaguered zip, but we are so close to home.” Stiles sounded vaguely pressed, shifting around in his seat as he drove. 

“Want me to wait? Safe and consensual in all thing.” As he spoke, Derek squeezed gently, smirking at the groan Stiles gave. 

“My big head says yes but my slightly smaller head is saying it’s suffocating and would dearly love to be in your hand right now!”

“Doesn’t feel slightly smaller but I am all for safety.” Pulling his hand back, Derek turned to look directly at Stiles. There was a high flush in his cheeks, his lips were slightly red and swollen, and Derek wanted nothing more than to jump over the console and take those lips with his own. Instead, he shifted as low as his seat belt would allow and moved his hands to his own waistband.

“What are you doing? Oh Jesus, you’re killing me here, Derek!”

“I decided it was safer to keep my hands to myself.” He popped the button on is jeans before sliding the zip down very slowly. Still maintaining as much eye contact as driving allowed, he reached into his pants and pulled out his hard cock. The sense of danger and naughtiness was a thrill, knowing he was doing something unexpected and kinda dirty.

“Oh, Jesus!”

“I thought it would be _easier_ on you if I kept my hands to myself.” As he spoke, Derek leant back so that Stiles had a clear view everything he looked over—which was often. It was exhilarating knowing the effect he was having on his lover simply by pleasuring himself. He vaguely registered the car going down a ramp as he ran his hand up and down his hardness, squeezing the head and moaning slightly. It took him a moment to realise that Stiles had pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine.

“Want to continue this somewhere you won’t cause an accident?” Stiles’ voice was husky, his eyes avid not that he didn’t have to pay attention to driving.

“Or we could finish this here?” Derek had no idea where this was coming from—this neediness, this desire to play with Stiles was a real surprise but he liked it. He liked knowing he could be this spontaneous. 

“God, I have no idea where this completely uninhibited Derek is coming from but can I just say how much I _truly_ appreciate him? Just—let’s get somewhere safe so I can let myself fully enjoy this and show you just how much I liked you taking matters into your own hands.” So saying, Stiles ripped his gaze away and jumped out of the car, waiting with obvious impatience for Derek to do the same.

Derek made no attempt to hide what he was doing as he got out of the car, carefully pushing his dick back into his pants, before zipping and buttoning them up. He did allow the length of his Henley to hide the very obvious bulge at the front of his jeans.

“Lead the way, Detective Stilinski.” He grabbed his duffel bag and moved to Stiles’ side, smiling smugly at the look on his lover’s face. Morale booster to see how much want and know it was all for him.

“You are so gonna get it when we get upstairs.” Stiles gave him a lopsided smile as they made their way across the car park. “I was going to introduce you to the building Super but I think he’s out tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure.” The wait for the elevator was minimal and Derek made sure to stay on his side of the car. He could wait until they got into the apartment—just. He waited with only slight impatience while Stiles checked the hallway and opened the apartment door, following him in once Stiles indicated that it was safe. “Should I be worried about her finding me here?”

“I don’t think so but it pays to be vigilant. I don’t want to get complacent—once this woman is in custody, we can relax and not before.”

“It’s reassuring and kinda sexy that you are so invested in my safety.” Following Stiles into the bedroom, Derek tossed his duffel bag onto the floor out of the way.

“Derek—there is a dearth of perfect asses in the world—I consider it my civic duty to take very good care of the one that is right in front of me.” Stiles came to a halt by the side of the bed, emptying his wallet, cell phone and gun onto the bedside table in what was obvious a habit. He turned to face Derek. “Now, I believe we were talking about taking things in hand.” 

Derek stripped off his Henley and tossed it to the floor.

“You gonna let me see what I’m working with?” He let his gaze run up and down Stiles’ body, making it perfectly obvious what he was alluding to. Stiles smiled at him and began to step closer. 

“Actually, I think I might do some work first—you look like you’re in need of immediate attention and I have a hankering to see you fall apart!” Derek quickly found himself being turned around and pushed onto the bed, Stiles following him down. Before he could speak, Stiles had taken his mouth in a passionate kiss. He let himself get lost in the kiss, only vaguely aware of Stiles’ hands sliding down his body and making short work of his button and zip. Derek let his arms flop down beside his head, surrendering his body to whatever Stiles wanted to do with it. Derek moaned as Stiles released his mouth and began leaving nibbling kisses down his neck and moving down his body.

“I love the way you trust me,” Stiles muttered whilst still learning every inch of Derek’s chest. Derek forced himself not to move as Stiles began to play with his nipples, panting slightly as he tweaked and plucked at them until they were almost painfully erect. He felt bombarded with sensation as Stiles began to suck and bite one nipple whilst continuing to play with the other. He had never found his nipples to be a particularly sensitive area but somehow Stiles was changing that. 

But that wasn’t what he wanted now—playing around in the car had got him more riled up than he realised and he found he didn’t want to go slow.

“Stiles—“ His voice sounded gravelly. 

“Um hmm?” 

“Stiles, I love you, but if I don’t have your mouth on my dick in the next thirty seconds, I may be forced to cause damage to your person!” Derek groaned loudly as Stiles instantly obeyed and finally, _finally_ that beautiful pink, mobile mouth engulfed his cock and sucked out what few brain cells he had left.

He was conscious enough to know that he was pulling the fitted sheet off the mattress with his clenched fists; that the loud sounds in the bedroom were coming from him as he breathed obscenities and entreaties into the air; that he was stretched so taut across the bed that he was supporting his whole body weight on his shoulders, head and heels of his feet as he tried to get deeper into that hot, wet, snug paradise that was Stiles worshipping his cock but he truly didn’t have the available brain cells to think about any of it. There was no mental feedback, the lip-smacking, slobbering sounds Stiles made his only indication that he wasn’t alone in feeling this, in loving this. It was freeing and enthralling at the same time as a white fog enveloped him and he allowed himself to free-fall into the orgasm that wracked his body. 

Derek had no idea how long it took him to come back to himself, but he finally blinked his eyes open to find Stiles curled up beside him, a smile spread across his face.

“I’m the absolute worst—I can’t believe I checked out before doing something for you, especially after all of that teasing in the car!” His arms still felt as floppy as noodles but he managed to lift his hand to stroke Stiles’ jaw.

“No worries there—I enjoyed myself more than enough doing you.” A slight flush covered Stiles’ cheeks and Derek found himself grinning like a fool as he realised what Stiles was admitting to. 

“Well, um, good to know for such times in the future.”

“Yep.” It took a major effort to lift his head but he did it so that he could lean over and kiss Stiles sweetly. Their lips lingered but the kiss remained remarkably chaste—for them anyway. Stiles pulled back as a huge yawn overtook him and Derek gave a little laugh. “Shall we get some sleep?”

“Please. Although I reserve the right to wake you up in the night should the urge overcome me.” As he spoke, Stiles tugged and yanked at the duvet until they were both covered.

“Duly noted. And ditto.”

“Oh, of course.” Stiles yawned again before wrestling Derek around until he was tucked up against his back, Stiles’ lanky body pressed to him from chest to feet. It was weird as hell—Derek didn’t think he had ever experienced being the little spoon, let alone being manhandled into that position. Although the fact that Stiles was acting as a shield to protect Derek from the outside world was nothing new—he was starting to recognise that was Stiles’ default setting. Before he could give that more thought, he found himself drifting off to sleep.


	48. An Important Call

He was really proud of the frantic tone he managed to put into his tone as he spoke.

“There’s a woman being attacked next door! I saw someone—a woman looking like that photo on the news?—going to the door and now there’s all of this screaming!”

“Please slow down ma’am,” an authoritative voice replied. “Can you repeat what you said please?”

He made sure to draw in several deep, audible breaths. “I saw a bald woman—like the photo image that was on the news today. She was going to the house next door—and now there’s screaming and I think she’s killing her. Right now!”

“Please remain calm. Are you in a safe place? Can you let me have an address please?”

He rattled off an address that he had looked up, over on the other side of town, making sure to stumble over the street and numbers a couple of times to maintain the realism. Then he hung up, not leaving his name or number despite repeated requests.

With a smile on his face, he started his car. He was less than two blocks from Detective Stiles Stilinski’s apartment. The drive wouldn’t take him long at all.

* * *


	49. Apologies

Just a quick note to apologise for how long you guys have waited for the next few chapters. My dad died and I've been kinda swept up in grief, preparing for the funeral, etc. I promise the story hasn't been forgotten and I will finish it - I just need to get past this first. 

Love you all  
Skar  
X


	50. Face to Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you for your patience and kind words. The funeral is next Monday and writing this has actually helped to keep my mind off of things. I can't tell you how much your words meant to me - suffice it to say, I've been a bit of a watering can lately and your comments caused a few waterworks. 
> 
> Secondly, I dedicate this chapter to my daughter, Da Boss, who encouraged me to write every day and expressed zero disappointment when I didn't do any. She's the reason these 2500 words finally made it to the page. She also read this chapter for me to make sure it was coherent and she MADE me end it where I did so all of the blame is hers.

The sound of Stiles’ cell phone going off jerked Derek out of a deep sleep and he sat up slowly, groggily rubbing his eyes in the light from the lamp Stiles had turned on. 

“Stilinski.” Derek watched as Stiles rubbed his hand over his face whilst listening to the voice at the other end of the line. He grabbed a pillow and slipped it behind his back for support as Stiles climbed out of the bed and began dragging his clothes from the previous night on. “Jesus, she could still be there!”

Derek’s brows rose in confusion. Was Stiles talking about Julia Blake? It didn’t make sense unless—

“I’ll be there in twenty!” Closing his cell phone with a snap, Stiles looked over at Derek. “I have to go—there’s been a call—someone reporting a person that looked like Blake outside a house, then screaming from inside. And not your house—it’s across town somewhere.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah. If we move fast enough, she might still be in the area. Patrol cars on en route and we might be able to save the vic.” Dressed, albeit not tidily, Stiles filled his jacket pockets with the stuff from the bedside table. “I’ll have my cellphone if you need me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, just go.” Derek accepted the absent-minded kiss Stiles dropped on his cheek before watching him leave the bedroom. He heard the front door slam and then he was alone, wondering if this could really be the beginning of the end of the entire nightmare. And if so, why did he have that feeling of dread building in his stomach?

Deciding that he probably wasn’t going to get any more sleep, at least until Stiles returned, he climbed out of the bed and pulled on his boxer briefs. A quick rummage through his bag for a t-shirt and the EpiPen he had borrowed from his Marmee fell out onto the floor. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, he picked it up and looked at it—it seemed silly now, what on earth would he need a shot of adrenalin for? Tossing it back down on top of the bag, he made his way into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He might as well get comfortable while he waited for Stiles to come back.

o o O o O o o 

He didn’t actually see Detective Stilinski drive by but he heard the sirens and allowed himself a satisfied smile. With how far Stilinski had to drive, he had plenty of time. He drove carefully to Detective Stilinski’s apartment block, not wanting to draw any attention to himself.

The Lord was obviously smiling on him as there was a parking space in the lower level. Who knew—maybe it belonged to Detective Stilinski—that added a certain thrill to the whole thing. He walked across the car park, confident his disguise would mean no one would pay him the slightest bit of attention. 

Entering the building was easy thanks to the Supervisor’s neatly labelled keys and he had to stop himself from whistling out loud as he waited for the elevator. He could feel the excitement starting to build and tried to remain calm. What if his excitement was what the psychic picked up on? He didn’t want him to have prior warning. There was no way he was going to underestimate the difference between taking care of a man instead of a woman. He needed to maintain the element of surprise. 

He looked at his blurred reflection in the elevator, adjusting the hat on his head, pulling it further forward to cover his lack of brows. It had been a brilliant find—the uniform looked more than authentic enough, or at least enough to pass muster through a peep-hole. He just needed to keep calm. He needed to not think about the knife tucked up his sleeve—he wasn’t leaving anything to chance, bringing his own weapon with him; he needed to not think about the burgeoning excitement of a new canvas; breathe deeply so that he didn’t get too far ahead of himself. 

He stepped out of the elevator and made his way to the apartment door. He had the keys if need be—Finstock had proven to be so helpful—but the element of surprise meant he was going to have to take a bit of a risk. Hale wasn’t a small man and he didn’t want him prepared. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

o o O o O o o 

Halfway to the scene, Stiles finally managed to shake off the remains of sleep. Flipping open his cell phone, he rapidly dialled, keeping one eye on the traffic. There was something—

“Donald? Yeah, it’s Stilinski. Are you there yet? Any sign of your girlfriend?”

“Fuck you. And I’ve just got here—there seems to be some confusion.“

And just like that it hit Stiles what felt wrong about the whole thing. Derek hadn’t had a vision of _any_ of this—why? He’d been woken from sleep by a vision before—he’d told Stiles about it—so why not this time?

“Donald? Talk to me—what’s happening on the scene?”

“Wait a minute—yeah. Looks like a false call—there’s nothing here.” Donald cursed down the phone, obviously pissed off. “Who the fuck would do something like this?”

“Donald, get a patrol to my address immediately! Also, someone needs to check on Mahealani—now!” 

“On it.” Ignoring the honking horns and signposts, Stiles performed an illegal u-turn and began to speed back to his home.

o o O o O o o 

Holding onto his mug of coffee, Derek jumped slightly at the firm knock on the door. He didn’t have his watch on but knew it was late—who would be calling on Stiles at this time of night? Placing the mug in the sink, he walked towards the door, running his fingers through his hair and trying to ignore the faint prickling sensation that was covering his body. His head was buzzing and it felt like the start of one of his visions.

It made no sense—Stiles was going to the scene across town—surely it was too late for a vision now? Unless his gift had mutated even further? He hesitated at the front door, suddenly unsure if he should open it. 

“Who’s there?”

“Mr Hale? I’m Officer Kali—Detective Stilinski sent me to check in on you, act as guard whilst he’s at the other scene.” Derek smiled slightly—that sounded just like Stiles. Nevertheless, he stepped closer to the door and looked through the peep-hole. The officer stood back far enough that Derek could clearly see his uniform, the hat pulled down over his forehead. He looked young—cheeks clear of stubble, smallish hands as he helpfully held up his badge to the peep-hole. Derek couldn’t see it clearly through the small hole but it looked authentic.

“Mr Hale—there’s been an incident at the scene. I really need to come in and explain about Detective Stilinski.” Panicked at the words, Derek yanked the door open.

“What happened to Stiles?” The young officer stepped forward into the apartment, slim hand pressed against the open door before closing it with a decisive push. Derek felt a dark tide begin to sweep over him, his vision blurring—if something had happened to Stiles—

Officer Kali took another step forward as Derek stumbled back into the open bedroom door. He’d never experienced anything like this—it was like double vision. He could vaguely see the officer in front of him but superimposed over that image was a man, slumped in a doorway—his pose a mirror image of Derek’s own. He reached back, grabbing the chair just inside the bedroom to try to maintain his balance. 

“Let me just get dressed—I’ll be right out.” Without giving Officer Kali a chance to speak any further, Derek stepped back into the bedroom and shut the door, yanking the chair in front of it. The vision was coming in waves—one minute he was in the bedroom, the next he was outside staring at the bedroom door, anger building. He fell to the ground, jarring his knee as he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He couldn’t afford to black out now—there wasn’t time. 

“Mr Hale—“He could hear it now, the low tone used to disguise the fact that the voice was female. Nausea rose in his throat, sweat breaking out on his face and neck as a huge wave of hate and anger threatened to drag him under. He watched, almost frozen in horror, as ‘his’ arm lifted and a sharp kitchen knife was dragged out from his sleeve. The sick excitement was rising, threatening to completely overtake him as he struggled to get to his knees and crawl towards his bag. It had fallen off the chair, the contents spilling across the floor but he could see what he needed. He just had to reach it. 

He shook his head, trying not to see ‘his’ left hand reach out and turn the doorknob at the same time as he watched it turning from inside the room. His fingers scrabbled and found purchase as the chair he had placed in front of the bedroom door began to shift inwards, responding to the pressure of someone trying to open it. He just needed to stab and press—that’s what Marmee always said. He fell back, head banging painfully on the floor as he slammed the EpiPen into his thigh and pressed the injector, a grunt escaping him as his system was flooded with adrenaline. Through slitted eyes, he watched as the door was pushed open and a head slid through the gap, no longer covered by a police cap, scalp gleaming in the light from the lamp. 

“Hi, Derek.”

o o O o O o o 

Stupid, stupid, stupid to think that they had managed to fool Blake. She had obviously been following them, had realised that Derek was staying with Stiles rather than at home. Jesus, how could he have been so stupid? He had promised himself—had promised Derek—that he wouldn’t be put in danger again. That he wouldn’t have to face anything like this ever again and now this. Stiles was miles away and Derek was potentially at the mercy of a fucking mad woman. He pressed the accelerator harder, swerving around a car that seemed determined to ignore the flashing blue lights. He was less than five minutes from home but what if he wasn’t fast enough? What if Derek succumbed to a vision and couldn’t protect himself? Stiles felt physically sick—he didn’t want to imagine the same thing happening to Derek as had happened to those women—slash marks all over him, bleeding out in Stiles’ apartment just because Stiles hadn’t thought things through before dashing out of the door. Please God, please—not Derek.

o o O o O o o 

The knife came slashing down and Derek winced as it sliced into his arm, stopping him from getting to his feet as Blake put all of her weight behind it.

“Should have kept your filthy mouth shut—I was just doing what needed to be done and you had to ruin it all.” Blake was spewing a constant torrent of abuse as she attacked him, jabbing and slashing with the knife as Derek struggled to get to his feet. He grabbed the duvet, shoving it in her direction as he clambered to his feet. His arms were bleeding where she had managed to catch him, pain and shock working against him as he finally made it to standing. He practically towered over her but she had a knife and so much anger on her side—what the fuck was he going to do? 

Without giving himself time to think, he lashed out, punching her squarely in the face and sending her staggering backwards. He reached for her wrist, wrestling with the hand that held the knife as she fought with what felt like inhuman strength. She raked at him with her other hand, kicking out as she tried to shove him backwards towards the bed. He could feel himself tiring, the shot of adrenaline wearing off almost as quickly as it had taken effect, the loss of blood from his numerous wounds causing him to move sluggishly. 

Yanking herself free, she stabbed forwards, aiming for his stomach and he barely twisted out of the way before he fell backwards, landing on his back on the bed. She was on top of him before he could move, face twisted with rage and hatred as she straddled his body and stared down into his face. 

“Your fault—this is all your fault—your fault, your fault, your fault!” She was screaming in his face, hands clasping the knife, arms raised overhead as she prepared to stab downwards. He jerked his knee up, slamming it into her groin and knocking her askew. He followed her over so that now she was on her back and he was straddling her. Rage swept through him—but this time not her rage. It was his own. Rage at being attacked—rage at the impact her madness had had on his life; rage at being the victim yet again. He was raining blows down on her face and neck, a roar of anger escaping him as he fought against what had been his life, fought for the life he had now. 

As quickly as it had overtaken him, the rage was gone, and he was knelt astride her still body. Her face was a bloodied mess, arms limp above her head, the knife by her still fingers, his blows knocking her unconscious. He stumbled back and off the bed, sickened by what he had done—his arms and hands were on fire, his body screaming at him that he needed to sit down before he fell down and he swayed where he stood. He looked down at his hands, knuckles scraped and bleeding, blood oozing sluggishly from the wounds on both forearms. 

The front door slammed open and he heard Stiles shouting his name. 

“Bedroom—I’m in the bedroom.” Derek croaked, turning to face the door as Stiles rushed in, gun in hand, face white with fear. “Stiles—“

“Derek, DOWN!!”


	51. Stiles - Aftermath and New Connection

Stiles sighed in relief as the representative from Internal Affairs left the interview room. He ran his fingers through his already messy hair, momentarily gripping strands tight as he tried to hold onto his frustration, scowling even more as he realised he had transferred ink from his fingers.

“Scott—“

“I’ve been in here with you—I don’t know anything either.” Stiles exploded out of his chair, stalking around the small interview room and trying to stop himself from punching the walls. Just because Internal Affairs had left the room didn’t mean he wasn’t being observed—even in his rage, he knew how the game was played.

“Can you find out for me—please? I promise not to speak to anyone without you being present.”

“Stiles—“

“Goddammit, Scott, if it was Allison, wouldn’t you want to know?” Seeing his partner go pale, Stiles momentarily regretted both his indiscretion and his tone of voice but he stubbornly pushed it from his mind. He needed to know what was going on.

“Look, Stiles, I know you’re stressed but—“ The door opening interrupted whatever Scott was about to say and they both turned to face Captain Parrish as he entered.

“Sit down Stilinski.”

“Captain, I need to know how—“

“SIT DOWN!” With a sullen nod as he realised Parrish wouldn’t answer any of his questions whilst he was stalking around the room, Stiles threw himself into the nearest chair. Scott pulled his chair over to join him and in spite of his agitation, Stiles was relieved to have his partner at his side. “Right, Internal Affairs are _probably_ going to rule it as unpreventable, and once you’ve seen the department shrink, there should be no problem with you being reissued your side-arm.”

“Good—I can’t believe IA even had to ask half of those damned questions! The woman was a serial killer—what, should Stiles have asked her nicely to put down the knife?” Scott sounded both incredulous and indignant on Stiles' behalf.

“I don’t need attitude from you as well, McCall. Whatever pointless guilt you’re feeling because you weren’t with your partner, don’t shovel it onto me. Or do I have to recommend you see the departmental shrink as well?”

“No sir—I’m sorry Captain.” Scott subsided back into his seat, looking apologetic.

“Good. Donald’s already signed up—or rather, he should be after that whole flirting with a serial killing cross-dresser. I don’t need you out of action too, McCall.” Stiles could feel Parrish’s eyes on him but stubbornly refused to look up and meet his gaze. Unless the Captain had something to tell him about Derek, and what the hell was going on, Stiles didn’t give a shit about what came out of his mouth. “However, Internal Affairs are still a bit itchy about the shooting being _completely_ righteous, regardless of what they might be mouthing in front of us. There’s the question of the bruises and blood on her face, your involvement with Derek—they’re saying your story doesn’t flow the way it should.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“There were rumblings—did you entice Blake to your premises; there’s the fact that two of the lead investigating officers were at the site of a similar crime elsewhere because of an anonymous call; McCall was nowhere to be found, which we **will** be discussing in more detail in a separate conversation; Hale freely admitted to having injected himself with prescription only drugs and beaten the suspect unconscious, and yet you claim that Blake was conscious and about to attack Hale—“ Parrish tapped on a finger as he went through each example.

“I’m not _claiming_ anything! And whatever Derek took, he did it for a damned good reason! If it meant he was aware enough to save himself from Blake, then I think that’s pretty self-explanatory! Look, Captain, I don’t mean to be rude but I have been tested for gunshot residue and interrogated for nearly four hours by Internal bloody Affairs when all I really want to know is that Derek is okay and that I can see him! Now, what do I have to do to make that happen?”

“Hale has been transferred from the local hospital to Dr Alan Deaton’s facility.” Parrish’s face was carefully blank as he made the statement.

“What? Why?” 

“Look, Stilinski—“

“No, Captain, seriously! I think I’ve been a good boy—I’ve answered the same questions over and over again; I’ve put up with nasty insinuations from Internal Affairs that I committed cold blooded murder in front of my lover; I have ink and powder all over my hands and in my hair, and now you’re telling me that Derek has been moved out of the state without me getting to see him. I think I’m doing a really good job of not losing my ever-loving mind!”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I can’t tell you anything more—it all went through Mrs Hale, Derek’s mother who happens to have power of attorney in the event that Derek is emotionally distressed and deemed unable to speak for himself. I’m sure you’ll be able to speak to her tomorrow.” It was obvious from Parrish’s tone that he wasn’t happy with the state of affairs either. “It had been made clear that he will be available for official interviews and if he is required to attend a court of law only, otherwise we have been strongly advised to cease **all** contact.”

“Cease all—are you fucking kidding me? Why can’t I talk to her until tomorrow?”

“It’s too late to talk to her tonight, Stilinski. In fact, the rest of this conversation can wait. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? _Sorry_?!”

“I got the distinct impression from Mrs Hale and her representatives that Derek wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon. I know this probably isn’t much consolation, but maybe some time apart might be a good thing—this all happened in a pressurised situation, a little space might provide some clarity.” Parrish looked so sad that Stiles found himself speechless. This made no sense—why would Derek let them take him away? Without giving them a chance to even talk? “Stilinski—you need to focus on what’s going on here—you can sort that out afterwards, okay?”

Jesus, what were they expecting to happen that taking Derek away seemed like the best option?

o o O o O o o

Stiles got his answer when the press let rip over the next six weeks. Initially, Stiles stayed with McCall as his apartment remained a crime scene as long as Internal Affairs ran their investigation. When they finally declared it a righteous shooting, he found himself faced with a mess of police tape, fingerprint dust, dried blood and various other bits of SOCO detritus.

Scott, along with his new fiancée Allison, proved themselves to be invaluable—helping to organise the removal of the contents of the room, as well as the fittings and furnishings, whilst the department actually footed the bill for clean up. Stiles didn’t think that he could return to living and sleeping there until all trace of what had happened had been removed, and found himself contemplating complete redecoration. Whilst doing so, he found himself being assisted by none other than Lydia Hale. Or Lydia Whittemore as she was about to become.

Stiles had got used to screening all of his calls to avoid journalists who weren’t quite ready to let go of all of the ‘Cop Kills Serial Killer to save Psychic Lover’ and similar headlines. He’d spent weeks being chased whenever he had to go outside, limiting himself to no comment as per the departmental publicist’s requests when all he wanted to do was either arrest them or tell them to fuck off. The Hale family seemed to fair slightly better—there was one sighting of three of Derek’s adoptive siblings carrying luggage out of their mother’s house, but they kept their heads down, the dark-skinned, muscular brother bulling his way through to the press to enable them to get to their waiting vehicles. Not one word was spoken and Stiles knew the house had been closed up, although it wasn’t up for sale. It just stood empty. Much like Derek’s home and the bookstore.

Denied the main ‘stars’, instead there were interviews online and on television with anyone even vaguely connected to the case: from the landlord who made the gruesome discovery of Blake’s mother’s mummified corpse in her apartment; to the one mechanic at Greenberg and Sons who’d dated the psychotic bitch and known there was ‘something not right about her’; all the way to that creep Stiles had found making a heavy-handed pass at Derek at the bookstore. It was all over the place and some of the things dragged up about Derek made Stiles realise just why leaving the city had been a good move.

He didn’t recognise the number that came up on his cell and answered cautiously, making his tone less than welcoming.

“Stilinski.”

“Hey Stiles, it’s Lydia. Derek’s sister.”

“Whoa, hey, oh my God I’ve been trying to speak to a member of your family with no luck! Where—“

“Nope, this is not how this conversation is going to go. I promised Marmee that if or when I got in touch with you, I wasn’t going to play middleman and I’m determined to stick to that.”

“What the hell?”

“Derek is fine. He’s in the right place for him and the moment and he will be in touch with you when he’s ready. That’s the official line and that’s all I’m prepared to say about that. I need you to respect that—can you do that?”

“It doesn’t sound like I’ve got much choice!” he replied bitterly.

“Very true. Right, now that’s out of the way, we can get to the reason I called.”

“I’m all ears.” Stiles couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but for the life of him he couldn’t think what else Derek’s sister could have to say to him.

“Excellent. Jackson wasn’t sure you’d want to be involved in the wedding, but I told him not to be so stupid. Besides, he had no _decent_ friends now and we need someone to fill out his side because we’re not sure if his douche-bag adoptive parents will even bother. Especially because he’s marrying ‘beneath himself’—his mother actually _said_ those words if you can believe it.” Lydia sounded like she was building up to an epic rant so Stiles took the risk of interrupting her.

“Jackson? My old friend Jackson?”

“Well, who else would I be talking about? Don’t make me regret assuming you have some intelligence.”

“Sorry, sorry, yes, of course. I’ll be there if Jackson’s getting married. Damn, I did not expect that.”

“Good. You can be my elephant. There is so much shopping and organising to do. Normally I’d make Derek come with me but since he’s hiding out with Dr Deaton, convincing himself that what he feels isn’t real and that **you** only wanted him due to enforced proximity or some such bullshit, you’ll have to do. Can you do this weekend?”

“Wait, what? Why would Derek say that? And why do I have to be your pack mule?”

“I told you I’m not getting into the middle of this thing with you and Derek. Keep up. Saturday—yes or no?”

Confused but realising that Lydia might just be offering him a back-door way to get to Derek again, Stiles found himself agreeing. Although what he was meant to know about shopping for weddings he really wasn’t sure. It was distinctly possible the Hale family were going to be the death of him, one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still here. The funeral went as well as could be expected, although also incredibly hard. I'm dealing with day to day stuff as well as helping with sorting out his estate. Emotionally, I have no idea where I am. 
> 
> Hope this makes up for the wait - I AM going to finish this.


	52. Pre-Wedding Jitters

“Which shade do you prefer?” Derek squinted at the screen, desperately trying to see some difference in the two large squares of white material and failing abysmally.

“The one on the left?” He knew his voice sounded hesitant and questioning rather than positive but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Your left of mine?”

“Err, mine?” 

“Really?”

“Okay, the other left—yours!”

“God, Derek, that’s just useless!” Lydia sounded completely fed up, her glossed lips pursed with irritation.

“Well, they look exactly the same to me—how am I meant to be able to see the infinitesimal differences?!”

“FaceTime with you for wedding stuff is pointless. At least _Stiles_ managed to choose one!” Lydia busied herself folding up the two squares of fabric and Derek took the time to make sure his facial expression gave nothing away. He hid the nervous tapping of his fingers under the desk.

“So Stiles is still helping you?” He tried to keep his voice casual but was pretty sure he failed. 

“Oh yes! We sorted out the favours yesterday—although I’m still not sure about the coated almonds.” 

“How um—how is he? I mean is he good?” 

“You could find out for yourself if you came out of hiding.” Her tone was acerbic and she tossed the neatly folded squares of material out of sight. 

“I’m not hiding. Deaton is helping to fine-tune my mental defences so that the visions don’t overwhelm me. We’re actually making some real progress.” He knew his answer sounded defensive and kinda lame. 

“Uh huh. And you couldn’t _possibly_ do any of that if you came home, right?” 

“Lydia—“

“I know, I know. I said I’d stay out of it. It’s none of my business if you’re pining away, trying to pretend that what you had wasn’t real while Stiles—“ She trailed off and Derek found he was gripping the tablet way too tightly.

“While Stiles what?”

“I thought you didn’t want me getting involved? Half of our conversations lately seem to involve you asking after Stiles like a lovesick teenager while trying to pretend that you don’t care.”

“Lydia—“

“I get it, I do. It was a traumatic experience, all very intense, and you needed some time off to get your head around it all. But Derek, it’s been nearly three months and you yourself have to admit the feelings haven’t gone away! Maybe it’s time you faced the fact that what you felt was real and you’re just too chicken-shit to come back and try to make a go of things!”

“It’s not that simple and you know it. My gift being back is going to have a huge impact on my life. Deaton says things have changed from before so I’m going to have to learn how to cope with them as they arise—some aspects have intensified, some have mutated. I’m just getting used to all of that and the whole situation with Stiles is just so complicated.” Derek struggled to explain how he felt, knowing inside that Lydia was right—he was running scared of everything that Stiles had made him feel. 

“Derek, honey, I know you’re scared. Hell, do you think I’m _not_ scared that Jackson and I are moving too fast? That what we have isn’t real and he’s going to wake up one morning and decide his parents are right? But you have to face that fear and kick it’s ass, Derek! For God’s sake, you faced a serial killer and saved yourself! Are you really going to let fear cost you something that could be incredibly special?”

“You and Jackson are different. And you are perfect for each other, besides the fact that he can come across as a pretentious asshole!”

“Well, thank you. I think so too. I need to smooth down some of his harder, rougher edges, but he’s going to turn out just fine!”

“God, Lydia, only you!”

“But this is going off-topic. Are you going to come home for my wedding—can I rely on you to give me away?” 

“Hell, of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world—it’s an honour to be asked.”

“You promise?” Derek made eye contact as best he could through the screen, seeing beneath all of the bluster and bossiness to the insecure young woman underneath. 

“Der-bear, pinky swear.” It was worth feeling slightly silly to see the smile cross Lydia’s face.

“You haven’t said that in years.” 

“I haven’t had to. But it means as much now as it did when we were kids. Regardless of whatever else is going on, I **will** be there.”

“Okay. Good. Fine.” He watched as Lydia pulled herself together, putting her ‘face’ back on until the confident façade was back in place. “So, should I put you down as a plus one for the meal then? Or are you just going to escort Marmee?” 

“I guess I’ll just escort Marmee. You know there’s no one I want to bring.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I should warn you that Stiles ticked the plus one box. And he mentioned someone called Danny? Not that you care or anything but—“

“Danny? Like Danny Mahealani?” Derek was stunned, remembering well just how good looking Officer Mahealani was. 

“Yeah, something like that. I’m really not sure about those almonds we chose. I’m going to have to ask Jackson although he’s almost as useless as you!”

“So, like a date? Or just a friend thing?” 

“Hmm? Sorry, honey, I’m going to have to go. If I’m changing the favours, I need to speak to my coordinator sooner rather than later.” Derek could see that Lydia wasn’t going to talk about it anymore and he gave a huff of annoyance. 

“I’ll let you know our flight details as soon as they’re finalised.”

“Thanks, Der. I’ll speak to you during the week—give my regards to Dr D.”

“I will—night Lydia.” Even after the screen went blank and he was looking at his reflection, Derek stayed frozen in place. Stiles was taking a date to the wedding. A very attractive date at that. It looked like all of his thinking and hiding time had run out. Lydia was right—it was time to shit or get off the pot.

o o O o O o o 

“She talks about him constantly, you know? For someone who wasn’t going to get involved, she sure seems to make sure I’m up to date with everything Derek is up to.” Stiles stared down at the glass in his hand, surprised that it was empty. How many did that make?

“Stilinski, I refuse to let you turn my bachelor party into another _does Derek still love me_ angst-fest.”

“Pshaw! Call this a bachelor party?” Stiles gestured around, pointing haphazardly in the vague direction of the rest of their party. Isaac and Boyd were getting another round of drinks in, jostling each other as they joked around at the bar.

“It’s more than enough for me. I promised Lydia no strippers, no ending up tied naked to a lamp-post—“

“There’s still time!”

“—or any other fucking ridiculous things you might get up to! I remember exactly who got us into all of that shit when we were younger!”

“Hey, s’no fair! I wasn’t resp—ponsi—to blame for all of that stuff! You were hardly innocent!”

“I never said I was! Jesus, Stilinski, just grow a pair! If you want him, do something about it or shut the fuck up!” Jackson drained his glass before slamming it down onto the table. “To be frank, I don't know what the hell you see in him anyway. Everyone acts like Derek is the second coming of Christ or something! When I met him, he came across as a sullen asshole!”

“That might be because you asked him why he didn’t charge more to consult with the police.”

“And claim damages!” The return of Isaac and Boyd ended the conversation, for which Stiles was grateful. Childhood friend he might be, but Jackson had grown up to be a bit of an entitled asshole and it irked Stiles to have to listen to just how perfect the other man’s life was. Mind you, you didn’t have to be a crack detective to see just how much Jackson was longing for someone to love him for himself instead of his money, something he had found in spades with Lydia. She put up with absolutely none of his bullshit, and having had to investigate Derek at the beginning of the Blake case, Stiles knew the Hales were absolutely fine financially. No, Lydia must see _something_ redeemable about Jackson.

“Well, he’s still a sullen asshole!” Jackson accepted his replacement drink from Isaac and took a big mouthful. Stiles would not want to have his headache in the morning, although he knew he was setting himself up for a humdinger of a hangover himself. More proof of Lydia’s wisdom if it was needed—hen and bachelor party on Thursday night, rehearsal dinner on Friday night, wedding on Saturday. With her keeping an eagle eye on them all, there was zero chance of them getting wasted at the rehearsal dinner, thereby ensuring no hangovers on the morning of the actual wedding. Genius.

“Right—testicles one and two—have you arranged _any_ entertainment for tonight at all, or am I going to have to entertain myself?!” 

“Don’t be an ass Jackson—we all know Lydia has banned all of that shit and you’re too whipped to go against her!” It was a surprise to hear the comment come from Boyd, who up until now had definitely been the epitome of the strong, silent type and Stiles barely managed to hold back a smirk at Jackson’s wide-eyed surprise. The whole Hale family was going to be nothing but good for turning Jackson into something resembling a real boy.

Taking his own drink, Stiles gave himself a mental slap. Seeing Derek for the first time in two months was going to happen whether he worried about it or not. Tonight was to celebrate Jackson’s last nights as a free man—tomorrow Stiles could go back to panicking about what on earth he was going to say to the man he loved when he saw him for the first time in months tomorrow night.


	53. Out of Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Somehow, the USB that had the next few chapters on got corrupted and I've had to redo them. Or at least, start to. Writing has been difficult anyway - we're knee deep in sorting out my Dad's estate and it's constantly upsetting, so my focus hasn't been there.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this rewrite is okay and I will see if I can bring this to a satisfactory close.  
> Skar  
> x

Lydia had outdone herself. The banqueting hall holding the rehearsal dinner had been laid out beautifully: it was tastefully elegant without being cold, the autumnal colours Lydia had chosen making the atmosphere warm and welcoming. From his position at the bar, Derek had an excellent view as he watched his Marmee hugging, kissing and laughing with the various guests who visited her at the head table. 

Lydia and Jackson could be seen off to one side at the rear of the hall, having an animated conversation. From the hand gestures and the way she was tossing her hair, Derek was pretty sure Lydia was giving her fiancé hell about something. As pretty much expected, Jackson’s parents were a no-show, something that had to hurt. However, Derek felt that Jackson was lucky—by meeting and marrying Lydia, Jackson had just happened to find himself a whole new family, one that would more than make up for anything he had missed during his childhood. Marmee was good at helping the lost to find their way and providing them with the necessary support system. With a bit of work and effort, Jackson might well turn into a real boy. 

He took another swig of his club soda, grimacing at the taste of the now tepid liquid. He knew he couldn’t hide at the side of the bar forever. Boyd had managed to corner him when he dropped Marmee off at home. 

“Derek.”

“Boyd.”

“You good?” He’d nodded, not willing or wanting to go into the emotional turmoil that he was experiencing just being back. He still had to face his own home. “You made the right choice going when you did—this place was a shit-show.”

“Yeah. Sorry—I know you hate that side of things. I didn’t mean to desert you and the others and make you deal with it.”

“No big. Was easier knowing you were safe with Marmee and Dr D. To start with anyway.”

“To start with huh?”

“Yeah. We kinda expected you home way before this—could have done with you to keep Erica and Lydia apart. They clashed like titans through all of this wedding crap.”

“Enough to put you off marrying Erica?”

“Hell no! I’d have married her years ago if she’d have me. Look, Derek, I know this has been tough and all but—well, he seems like a good guy.” And just like that, the mildly amusing conversation had stopped being even remotely funny.

“Boyd—“

“He’s way less of a dick than Jackson and seems to give a shit about you. Looks to me like you at least owe him a conversation.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah it really is. Either you like him for real or it was some weird Stockholm Syndrome shit in the middle of a crisis. Whichever it is, the guy deserves some kind of closure. Maybe then he’ll stop hanging around our place like a lost puppy.”

“A lost puppy?”

“Oh yeah. Although Erica has taken to calling him the Batman to her Catwoman.”

Derek had shuddered. “I can only imagine what it’s like with the two of them in the same room together.”

“Left to their own devices, I think the two of them could get into a whole lot of trouble.”Boyd had smiled. “Just—grow a pair and talk to him. He deserves that much.”

“You’re right. Thanks, Boyd.”

So here he was, hiding by the bar, waiting for Stiles to turn up with his gorgeous date so that Derek could make a complete and utter ass of himself in front of his entire family. If he’d had any plans to chicken out of the whole thing, they were nixed by yet another lecture. 

Isaac had already managed to track him down, ostensibly to finally say hi as they hadn’t seen each other since Derek’s return. However, he had managed to force a conversation that was less than subtle—all about what a cool dude Stiles was, how he deserved someone with a bit of a backbone—blah blah blah. That was Isaac all over, though—sarcasm and scarves. He had let Derek know how bad things had got following the death of Julia Blake, and Derek was glad once again that he had avoided all of the hoo-hah. He hadn’t expected Isaac’s endorsement of Stiles, but it was nice to hear it nevertheless. If it didn’t add to his stress levels that is.

“DEREK!” The shouting of his name was all the warning he got before he found himself with an armful of voluptuous female, blonde curls flying every which way, glossy red lips parted in an inviting grin. He crushed his sister to his chest, enjoying her enthusiastic greeting. “Where the fuck have you been hiding?”

“Here, obviously. You look amazing Erica!” He disentangled himself and gently pushed her back so that he could take a good look at her. “How did you get Lydia to agree to you wearing red> I would have thought she would think it would clash with her hair.”

“Oh, I’m meant to be in a tasteful shade of green but you know me and tasteful are barely on speaking terms!” She stepped back into him and squeezed as hard as she could. “Fuck, I have missed you Big D. Are you back for good? Going to make an honest man out of my Batman at last?”

“Your Batman huh?” She stopped grinning, looking up at him with a serious face. 

“Derek. Life is way too fucking short. Stop dicking around, stop hiding behind Marmee, and go claim your boy. Before someone else does.”

“Erica—“

“Nope. I don’t want to hear any excuses about it not being as simple as I make it sound. You’ve had your freak out. You’re back and life goes on, psychic shit or not. Don’t let him get away.”

“Right.”

“Tonight’s your chance. Although he’s bringing some rather delicious eye candy with him I’m told. Go get him or you’re not the big brother I’ve looked up to my entire life.” Grabbing the empty glass from his hand, Erica shifted and gave him a shove away from the bar, slapping him loudly on the butt encouragingly. “You can thank me in your speech.”

Righting himself from her enthusiastic shove, Derek straightened the lapels of his jacket and headed towards the head table, where Lydia was stood talking with a small group of guests. Jackson was nowhere in sight—probably licking his wounds from the tongue-lashing Lydia had delivered, so Derek headed straight towards his sister. Maybe from there he would have a clear view of the entrance so he could see when Stiles arrived.

As he strode closer, he took in the rear view of the guys Lydia was talking to. One man, in particular, caught his gaze, long legs encased in slim fitting black trousers, pressed to within an inch of their life. His ass was covered by the tails of his jacket, although with one hand in the pocket of his trousers, Derek was teased with a hint of the rounded curve by the taut pull. Slim waisted, broad shoulders, the crisp collar of a white shirt could be seen. Mid brown hair that looked freshly cut closely to a well-shaped head and Derek found himself hoping the man would turn around. Because he could feel his body reacting, senses tingling as though they had just come back to life. He'd only ever reacted to one person like that in his whole life.

o O o O O O o O o 

Running his hand over the back of his hair nervously, Stiles tried to pay attention to the conversation. Danny had convinced him to get his hair cut much shorter than normal and he found himself playing with it a lot. Of course, the outfit didn’t help. The whole department seemed to be part of some conspiracy to make Stiles look his absolute best—Scott had given him a pep talk, Shaffer had insisted on taking him shopping for a new suit and _that_ had scarred him for life as well as emptied a chunk out of his bank balance. Hell, last night leaving work Captain Parrish had wished him luck.

He turned to his right as Danny rested a hand on his arm to get his attention.

“What—has he turned up?”

“Yep. You gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah, sure no worries. Thanks for coming with.” With a final pat on Stiles’ shoulder, Danny waved his general goodbyes to the group and headed off to the exit. As hoped, Danny going to the wedding as Stiles’ plus one had been just the push needed to get Ethan off his ass and into making an admission of interest—and Stiles made an excellent source of jealousy even if he did say so himself. Of course, he’d kinda been hoping for a romantic face-off in the middle of the room, with Ethan declaring his undying love for Danny and insisting that Stiles get his hands off his man, but it hadn’t turned out to be necessary. Just the gossip about the date had been enough to get him talking, and from there Stiles was more than happy for Ethan and Danny to head off from the rehearsal dinner. “I’m heading to the bar—anyone need a refill?” A chorus of nays and Stiles turned to go to the bar, stopping in his tracks as he came eye to eye with a particular pair of hazel eyes that were widening with shock. 

He tried to remember what he had been going to say, how he was going to approach the whole thing. But all that was running through his mind was that Derek was here—was finally in front of him. Derek was back. With nary a thought in his mind, he reached out and yanked Derek forward by his shoulders, taking advantage of Derek’s open mouthed shock to dive in with a passionate kiss that ignored the presence of so many other people as he reminded himself what it was about this man that made him so damned unforgettable.


	54. Apologies

Derek was perfectly happy with Stiles’ greeting even though he was fully aware he didn’t deserve it. It was the work of a moment to wrap his arms around the other man, pulling him in tightly and making the most of the enthusiastic kiss. They broke for air, looking into each other’s eyes momentarily.

“Jesus Derek—“

“Stiles, I—“

“Nope, not in the middle of my rehearsal dinner! There’s gotta be a broom closet or something you can go and hide in, talk through your feelings finally!” Derek pulled back from Stiles and faced Lydia, relieved to see that she wasn’t pissed at them for making a scene.

“I think I can do better than a closet, Lyds. Besides, I came out of there so long ago, going back in seems a little redundant!” Derek smirked at Stiles’ sad little pun before grabbing his hand and dragging him to the entrance of the large room. 

“I have a room upstairs where we can talk. I didn’t book it thinking I could talk you into coming up with me because I know I have so much explaining and apologising to do but—“

“I get it—that’s fine. Let’s get out of here.”

Relieved that Stiles seemed okay with letting Derek explain, he led the way through the lobby to the elevator. The silence was slightly thick with tension as they waited for the lift to arrive, stepping inside in unison before Derek pressed the number five for his floor.

“I thought Lydia said the family and friends had taken over the third floor?”

Derek turned to look at Stiles as he answered his question. “They did, yeah. I preferred being a little way away from the madness. Marmee, Erica and Lydia combined, with wedding stuff is a bit much. Isaac would have done the same if he’d thought of it in time.”

“Oh right.” Fortunately, the silence didn’t get a chance to get tense again as they arrived on the fifth floor. Leading Stiles down the corridor, Derek tried to get his breathing under control. No pressure—not like this conversation could decide whether the rest of his life had meaning or not. Shaking his head at his internal melodrama, Derek jiggled the key in the door, then stepped back to let Stiles enter the room first. Just because Stiles had kissed him didn’t mean that he was forgiven and he wasn’t going to make the mistake of thinking that. Stiles deserved a decent explanation and Derek was going to do his best to provide one.

“Um, do you want a drink or anything? Fully stocked mini bar although I’ve already eaten the snickers bar.”

“Big spender. No, nothing thank you.” Stiles stood at the window, looking out at the view.

“Do you want to take a seat?” When booking the room, Derek hadn’t thought he’d have much use for the two comfortable armchairs, but Lydia’s insistence that he pay for more than just a sleeping space now made perfect sense. Something else he’d have to thank her for.

“Yeah, thanks.” Stiles looked nervous, wiping his hands down his pants leg once he’d sat down. Taking the seat opposite him, Derek took a deep breath.

“Okay, well. Okay. Right. The first thing I want to do is thank you. I know if you hadn’t come in when you did, Jennifer Blake would probably have killed me. Actually, there's no probably about it. That adrenalin shot was already wearing off and I would have been completely vulnerable.”

“I’m sorry you were put into that position. It should never have happened— _I_ left you vulnerable in the first place—I should never have gone out on that call. Protecting you should have been my number one priority and it was arrogant of me to think my home was invulnerable to attack. Blake was wily enough to stay one step ahead of us for so long and I made the mistake of underestimating her.” Stiles looked uncharacteristically solemn and Derek truly appreciated his apology. 

“Thank you for that. I—initially when I came round and discovered Marmee had had me transported to Doctor Deaton’s facility, I was angry with you. That wasn’t fair of me—you were doing your job. Once I’d stopped feeling angry, I got scared. This—this thing has taken over so much of my life and it was back and I was in danger _again_ almost immediately—I was pissed and terrified.”

“Derek, I—“

“No, let me finish please.” He dry-wiped his face, trying to figure out his next words. “You were all tangled up in that—our relationship was this fish-bowl of intensity. I couldn’t figure out if what I was feeling for you was just because you were being my protector, or because I couldn’t hear your thoughts, or you know, the first good sex in my life.”

“Good sex?”

“Okay, fine, great sex. Mind blowing sex. Life affirming sex. Best sex I’ve ever had.” He rolled his eyes at Stiles’ self-satisfied smirk, deliberately ignoring the fist Stiles held out for a fist-pump. “Satisfied?”

“Not since you left, but go ahead.”

“Are you saying you had no doubts about our relationship at all? That it wasn’t tied up in the case in a messed up tangle?” Part of him couldn't understand Stiles' complete certainty--the rest of him was envious of his steadfast surety.

“I get your confusion, Derek, I just don’t understand why it was three months of zero contact! I know you spoke to IA because I was completely exonerated. However, I was told categorically that I couldn’t contact you or my job would be in jeopardy; Lydia would only tell me so much. But the person I wanted to hear from the most, that I _needed _to hear from to know he was okay wanted nothing to do with me. That hurt.”__

__“Shit. You’re right and I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was all a bit overwhelming going through all of that again as well as how new this thing with you is—was. So I hid. And once I started hiding, it was hard to come out of hiding. Dr D. was helping me recover mentally and shore up my mental defences; making sure that there were no ill effects from the adrenaline shot. And Marmee—we kinda needed some time because this scared her. But yeah, I was hiding.”_ _

__“From me?”_ _

__“From you. From myself.”_ _

__“And now?”_ _

__“Now—I would really like to come out of hiding. I would like to see if we have something real. If you can forgive me.” Derek shifted forward in his seat, not reaching out for Stiles’ hands through sheer willpower. “I know you wanted to protect me; you were there when I needed you to be, and it seems like Lydia has adopted you whether I like it or not. So—can you forgive me—maybe, give me a second chance?”_ _

__“If you need more time to figure out how you feel—if you need the space, I can understand it. Hell, we haven’t even ever been on a date!” Stiles looked uncertain and Derek hated himself for causing that expression. He would do whatever it took to not see that look on Stiles’ face ever again._ _

__“I think I can rectify that. Mr Stilinski, would you do me the honour of being my plus one at my sister’s wedding tomorrow? I can promise you exquisite food, a surfeit of my company, and a chance to see the family you could become part of—if you want, that is.” The fact that Stiles was refusing to meet his gaze had Derek worried but he knew he needed to do this—Stiles deserved to know that he was wanted and just how serious Derek was, no matter how scary it felt to put all that out there. When Derek said no more hiding, he meant it._ _

__“And if I say no?”_ _

__“Then I try my best to become your friend. And maybe try again in the future.” Derek sighed. “I’m lying—I would definitely try again in the future. I’m not going to give up—I know what I want and I’m prepared to fight for it. But I’m not going to push you—I will respect your answer the way you always respected mine.”_ _

__“And tonight? What about the rehearsal dinner?”_ _

__“Given the choice between the curious eyes downstairs and staying up here with you, I think it’s obvious which I would prefer. But maybe, in the interests of starting again and moving a little slower—would you like to have a drink with me? No pressure—we can maybe dance and talk, do things that normal new couples do. If you want.”_ _

__“If I want?” Derek nodded, trying to hide his impatience._ _

__“Yes Stiles, if you want.”_ _

__“A drink sounds good to me.” Derek held back a sigh, reminding himself that going slow as a good move. However frustrating it felt._ _

__“Then a drink it is.” He stood up, taking another deep breath._ _

__“You did say you have a mini bar.” Stiles stood up too, stepping forward until he was standing so close to Derek that their chests touched gently with every inhale and exhale. The spicy scent of Stiles’ aftershave wafted up to his nose, intensifying Derek’s arousal and he couldn’t stop himself reaching out with one hand, resting it on Stiles’ hip just beneath the open jacket. He managed to stop himself from yanking Stiles impossibly closer but the effort showed in the roughness of his voice._ _

__“I have a fully stocked mini bar and a complete faith in room service.” He looked into Stiles’ eyes, seeing no rejection there—just love, acceptance and arousal._ _

__“God, Derek I have missed you!”_ _

__“Maybe half as much as I missed you. And this.” This was a gentle kiss, a simple touch of lips that nevertheless ignited his already inflamed senses. “I missed this so damned much.”_ _

__“Show me.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the delay - ill health laid me low for quite some time and I am only now starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. But this WILL be finished. Thank you for sticking with me.


	55. The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades

“I can’t breathe, you dick!” Chest heaving, Derek debated whether or not he was going to move. He was feeling pretty darn comfortable right where he was, and the view was rather spectacular. Added to which, he had just come his brains out all over Stiles’ spine—he wasn’t sure he _could_ move just yet. “I can’t believe you did that when you know we have to be ready in less than 45 minutes.”

“But Stiles, you begged me to!”

“I did not!” Finally rolling off of Stiles supine form, Derek leant up on his elbow with his chin in his hand, his other hand sliding in the mess he had made of Stiles’ back. It definitely appealed to something primaeval in him to see proof that Stiles was his in such a basic way, although, yeah it did mean a quick wash wasn’t going to cut it. They were lucky they hadn’t got stuck together. 

“You did too—you said your ass was too sore but then you kept saying you wanted me to _use_ your ass!”

“I did not mean you should spooge all up my back! Ugh, I can barely feel my legs as it is let alone make it to the shower. That’s it—you’re gonna have to carry me.” With an overly dramatic sigh, Stiles turned to face Derek. “Come on—put those muscles to good use he-man.” 

“I’m sorry—I think my muscles have all checked out. That was an incredible double celebration last night and I think it is a cruel and unusual punishment that you expect me to be able to perform anything physical again so soon.” They’d had a lot to celebrate—not only had Stiles closed his latest case in damned near record time, Derek’s assistance with another detective team had directly led to an arrest that in all likelihood had saved some lives. 

It hadn’t been easy bringing their lives together. Despite apologies and understanding on both sides, they had to make a few adjustments. They had really only spent a short amount of time together in normal circumstances and although the physical chemistry was shit-hot, and the trust they had in each other was almost absolute, they had a lot to learn about each other. But ten months together had made a lot of changes in their lives. 

Derek worked as a consultant linked to Stiles’ own precinct although he helped out with cases around the country. It was all extremely hush-hush – his involvement in any cases was strictly need to know, and he rarely travelled. Evidence was sent to him, and with assistance from Dr Deaton, he had become adept at using his talents to ‘search’ for things that ordinary investigations couldn’t see. It was proving to be a really effective way of working—all of the detectives in Stiles’ precinct were protective of Derek (not just because he was Stiles’ significant other) and they made sure that anyone trying to contact the ‘Special Consultant’ was met with a major run-around if they refused to follow protocol and go through the correct channels. When he wasn’t working cases, Derek was more than happy to be running the book-store. John Barrington had come in and sheepishly apologised for his behaviour, and none of his other customers seemed to have taken any particular notice of the news surrounding the Blake Murders and were none the wiser regarding his special talents. It meant that Derek didn’t have to leave town and start all over again, for which he was forever grateful, and it went a long way to making their lives together much easier. 

“Lydia will **not** forgive us a second time if we’re late! I _still_ get lectured about missing her rehearsal dinner, as though that was all my fault!” 

“Well, to be fair, you did ask me to show you that I cared and we both know that wasn’t going to be a quick affair.” Derek gave an oof as Stiles’ elbow met his stomach, and he rubbed at the abused area. “Hey! Not nice—and here was me planning on gathering the energy to carry you to the shower!”

“And so you should! It’s lunch at your sister’s house—you should be hustling me out of bed, not making it impossible for me to leave!” Stiles shifted around until he was facing Derek on the bed, leaning forward to give him a gentle kiss. “Besides, Marmee is bringing cheese and macaroni pie and if we’re late, she’s going to let those greedy bastards eat all of it!” Stiles laughed as the statement galvanised Derek into action.

“Well come on then—I’ll give you a piggy-back ride if you agree to scrub my back!” 

“You should be scrubbing my back considering the damned mess you made!” Muttering under his breath, nevertheless, Stiles pulled himself out of bed and walked on wobbly legs to stand behind Derek. He groaned as Derek leaned down in front of him, making it possible for him to climb aboard with the minimum amount of effort. 

“Are you really sore? I’m sorry babes—sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” With his hands underneath Stiles’ thighs, Derek walked towards the bathroom, careful not to jostle his passenger. There were times when he blushed to think about their sex lives together. From a practical virgin, he seemed to have turned into a nymphomaniac, wanting Stiles any way he could get him. And there was something about the way he could make Stiles go non-verbal when he topped—it made him feel like Superman. He had never thought of himself as having a particularly voracious sex-drive but Stiles had taught him differently. Sometimes he barely recognised himself in the sexual animal who took great delight in holding Stiles down on the bed and fucking him without mercy--he had changed from someone almost afraid of their own shadow into a person full of confidence, fulfilled both personally and professionally. It was an amazing difference. 

“Yes I’m really sore but I wouldn’t change a damned thing—you know I love it when you go all he-man on my ass. Just—not the night before we have to have Sunday lunch with your family!” He set Stiles down carefully in the bathroom, turning on the shower and twisting the controls and shower heads until a steady stream of steaming water was flowing. Tugging the other man in after him gently, he grabbed the container of shower gel and squeezed some into his hand, lathering it up before letting his hands stroke over Stiles’ body. 

“Your family too. Jackson’s gonna be there and apparently so are Scott and Allison.” Lydia and Allison had bonded—he still wasn’t too sure how the two of them had met—and Sunday family meals were getting larger and larger. Isaac was out of the country at the moment, but Boyd and Erica would be there, along with Marmee, Lydia, Jackson, Scott and Allison. He actually found it very amusing watching how pale Stiles’ partner got when Lydia and Allison started talking about weddings—McCall still looked like a startled horse when the talk of marriage came up, regardless of the fact that he and Allison got engaged almost immediately after the Blake case was solved. 

“Yeah, it's kinda nice how everyone’s blended together.” Sliding his hands down Stiles back, Derek pulled him closer and leaned in for a kiss, trying to keep it gentle and undemanding and failing abysmally. “Hey—there is no time for your shenanigans and my ass is officially closed for business.”

“Who said it had to be your ass open for business?” Derek sucked Stiles’ bottom lip into his mouth, staring into his eyes the whole time. His man was beautiful—hair slicked back by the fall of water, eyes soft and gentle with love and arousal, skin flushed by the heat coming from the shower. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was—this time last year, he’d been alone, afraid and solitary. Now, he had the love of a good man; he spent more time with his family than he ever really had before and he’d even come to accept that his gift could be a good thing. “Stiles—do you realise just how much you’ve done for me? There really aren’t words to show you how much difference you have made in my life.”

“What’s brought this on?” 

“I don’t know—I just. Without you, my life was drab. Safe, boring and very very drab. I don’t know if I can ever make you see just how much you have changed things for me.”

“Probably about as much as you’ve changed my life.” 

“Yeah?” There was no doubting the sincerity of Stiles’ words, the look in his eyes proof positive that he meant everything he said. 

“God, yeah. I mean, it’s not every day you meet a man who’s not only psychic but the sexiest thing on two legs. I would have had to be a damned fool not to put that on lock-down the first chance I got.”

“Lock-down, huh? More police puns?” As Stiles pulled away, Derek let him go reluctantly, watching as he went to the bathroom cabinet and took something out. He watched, reading the nerves in the other man's body language with confusion.

“Nope—not just puns.” Stiles stepped back into the shower area, a shy smile on his face. Before Derek could ask him what was going on, he knelt down on one leg, looking up at Derek with his heart in his eyes. “I mean, I wanna put you on lock-down. Let the world know you’re all mine. So what do you say? Will you take a chance on a slightly rough round the edges police detective? Think you can see your way clear to being mine for good?”

“Well shit! Are you really asking me to marry you?” Derek was almost lost for words. 

“I really am. This thing has been burning a hole in my pocket for weeks—I kept waiting for the right time but it never presented itself. Then I realised that it’s not about the right time—its about the right person. And you are—the absolute right person for me. I just hope you think I’m the right person for you because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So, what do you say?” 

His grin felt like it was going to split his face in two as Derek leaned down and pulled Stiles back onto his feet and into his arms. 

“I say that I can see we’re going to be very late for another family occasion but that we have a very bright future ahead of us. And you know I’m never wrong about these things—after all, I’m psychic!”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished!!!
> 
> I've been trying to write the last chapter for _weeks_ but couldn't seem to get it right. I think I was trying to get in one last hot sex scene but apparently that wasn't what the guys were wanting!
> 
> Thank you so much for bearing with me while I finished this. 2016 has been an incredibly difficult year for me - bad health, I lost my job and I lost my Dad. But I was always determined that this story was going to be finished and I am truly pleased with what I have achieved. This is quite possibly the longest fic I have ever written!
> 
> I'm not sure what I'll be writing next - my old writing pal and I are considering a Spander fic which could be a lot of fun. But no doubt, Derek and Stiles will be calling me back before long. 
> 
> Thanks again and hoping 2017 is kinder to all of us.
> 
> Skar/x
> 
> * * *


End file.
